Gelda
by ArchArtistWriter
Summary: A new take on the tale of the four founders, with an unexpected twist. Four friends they were in the beginning, and enemies by the end...
1. Default Chapter

I am one of those people who reads the Bible to sort out what could be myth and what could be history and how easily it is to misinterprete them. I am also fascinated with Anthropolgy, being a young Igbo woman born and bred in England. So, quite naturally, I've had a few ideas concerning the Hogwarts Four. I love History, and their story is just too good to miss.  
  
I advise you to read 'Enimity shall bruise thy head' by dovielr. Go on! Obey me! Read it!  
  
Mwahahahahaha-- *coughs*  
  
Chapter One: Godric.  
  
I love my brother. I don't think there is anyone else in this world stronger or wiser or braver or kinder than he.  
  
I like the way he laughs and the way he pitches his voice when he jests or rebukes. I think he is my saviour and in a way, he is.  
  
When the raiders came to our village, they destroyed everything. They didn't even spare the women and children and that's what they usually do. The women they keep for raping before they abandon them. The children they keep for slaves. Papa bought a slave once, just once, when I was there to see it. It was a boy-thrall. I just called him 'thrall' and only Mamere would say a name to him, which she kept on changing because she always forgot it. All our other thralls have been with the family for so long, even Papa doesn't remember when they were first bought.  
  
I was lucky: Papa had sent me out to get on with the washing. I thought he was a vexatious bull. I still think so, today. But of course, he is my Papa, so I had to love him.  
  
Godric was going out fishing. He was always like that: he would go fishing in the ford in any weather so long as it wasn't raining or snowing. Mamere would clap her hands in delight when she saw a large catch. Papa would boast, saying that they would have to go to another village, to find a wife good enough for our Godric. He would go hunting too and even if he didn't kill a deer, he would bering back bags of mint or some other herb for Mamere and her women.  
  
The raiders came. We heard them from our ford, me washing further downstream so that he wouldn't have to see the dirty water and the fish wouldn't drink it. We heard the clanging of swords, the twanging of bowstrings. There were screams too. Screams of women, old people, children. Shouts from the raiders.  
  
Alert, Godric waded through the river and dragged me up onto his thick shoulders. I was still clutching the basket with the clothes and soap in it.  
  
"Quickly, Ahatti," he said softly, using the word that he learnt from the Jews for 'little sister'. He liked words as well, my big brother. "Quietly and quickly."  
  
We stayed in the hollows of the big trees, as far as was possible from the ford, where the raiders would be able to see us.  
  
It was cold as always. I began to chew on rope just to stop my stomach growling. Godric kept me warm. He held me close to him and I could feel his strong heart beating beneath his clothes. Godric my Saviour.  
  
The raiders had passed, I remember, on the other side of the ford. Carefully, we made our way back to the village.  
  
The sight would have made anyone vomit, but not my Godric. I was glad, too, that I didn't throw up bile. We both have the same courage, Godric and I.  
  
Our pretty village was still standing but the people, slaves and merchants alike, were all slaughtered: men and women had been brained, children's throats cut. There was blood everywhere: pooled on the floor, lapped up by the earth, soaking into it. It was splattered against the walls. It was everywhere. My breathe stopped: I lurched forward, my heart plummeted A wild moment of insanity and for what? The raiders had taken no slaves. Look! They had even killed the animals that could have earned them a goodly coin. They all had bloated stomachs in the cold air, furs blowing in the breeze. It was this breeze that blew the scent of blood in my face: twas too early for it to begin to stink.  
  
Godric's face turned to stone. He spat bitterly.  
  
"Come, Ahatti. We must bury our dead."  
  
"But there be so many!" I replied, aghast. I didn't want to touch my mother's body! Or my sisters, or Kelka's - my very best friend.  
  
"Still, we will bury them. Bury them and turn our backs to them. Go! You are now a woman, if not in body... take the stores... as much as we can carry, we shall take. I will bring out our dead and them we shall bury them."  
  
He was my brother. I was his sister. I nodded and hurried off first to our longhouse.  
  
Inside, small flames from the cooking place had begun to catch the damp rushes, bringing forth smoke. I knew where our blankets were, and some of our clothes. I hurried through the smoke and dark, terrified that I would step onto one of our dead.  
  
I came out into the air again, dumped the clothes and ran back inside, tripping over the boy-thrall's body: It had no head.  
  
I wanted to kick it, because it was a thrall's body that dared to get in my way. So disobedient, even in death! Of course, we would bury them, the thralls, as Masters should do. I decided not to kick it and went back inside, this time, in the place where we would have kept our cheeses.  
  
Why was there no one inside our longhouse? It was so dark and smoky. Not the way as it did whenever we cooked, but because of the new rushes, it was unbearable. It made tears begin to film my eyes. It was so vexing, trying to find the blankets, scared to open my eyes in case I saw a body lying nearby. I had to grope like a drunkard, a beggar, a blindman.  
  
Had Mamere, my sisters, my aunts and female thralls all ran out? Only to be slaughtered? We were Fordswomen! We were strong and wise! Surely they wouldn't be so foolish as to run out like stupid chickens and get their necks severed?  
  
I didn't know that the tears were pouring down my face until Godric came to me, scooped me up so that I dropped the cheeses and kissed each of my cheeks.  
  
"Don't cry, Gelda," he whispered. "Be brave. Be a strong Fordswoman."  
  
"Oh, I'm that alright, and much besides, I'll warrant," I replied bitterly when he put me down. "Hark at thee! Hast thou brung forward no nets? No bait for the fish we must catch? No hook? No arrows or bows? We will need to eat as we journey!"  
  
He laughed. "Yes, Gelda. I have done that and more. Have you got the clothes, my little mamere? I see you have cheeses. No apples? No ale?"  
  
"Odds Bobs!" I snapped "Tha' busybody!"  
  
It was strange. So strange. Amidst the smoking houses was blood and corpses, many withc hacked-off limbs, slashed, headless. Dogs were lying dead in the streets, legs akimbo. Rats and cats alike lay side by side, stiff and revolting. Godric and I gazed at it all. I saw Cooper holding his wife by the waist, eyes open, flies at them. Children with lolled heads, some cracked and brained.  
  
"Oh Godric... I will get the apples... and the ale...." I sniffed and wiped my nose on a sleeve. "Have you seen our family?"  
  
"I saw Papa," he said gravely, then turned away, back to heaping the dead in the centre of the street.  
  
I, too, turned - heart as cold as stone - and went into another longhouse. There was no acrid smoke to eat at my lungs there. I could see where the jugs of ale were. And the bread. I saw some shining coins and bits of gemstone and ivory: we would need those. The stone-hearted girl didn't think of the dead and their needs for money to pay the spectre at the tollgate.  
  
"Gelda!" I heard my brother call. Obedient, I ran out to meet him. His face was grave when I came to him and he pointed behind a house.  
  
There, in scattered lines, lay our mother - Mamere - our five sisters, all six aunts and three of the female thralls. They had all been killed with direct cuts from swords which made me realise that they had fought for their lives.  
  
"Mamere," I murmured. "Oh, Mamere..."  
  
"Help me, Ahatti," my brother said gently and together, we hauled our dead women over to the rest of the corpses. I was amazed that my brother had managed to get so many in such a short time. But he was wiser than I was, so he would know how.  
  
"What do we do now?" I asked, when all the dead had been moved together.  
  
"We bury them. We get large stones for the bottom and pile earth on them: You start by getting the stone... when you've got enough, leave the rest to me."  
  
"What shall I do when I've got enough stones?" I enquired.  
  
"Find a suitable longhouse that we can stay in for the night. We shall leave tomorrow."  
  
To say it was hard work would not be enough to describe it. I was as sweaty as the worst of thralls by the time I'd finished getting enough large stones. When I'd finished, I settled for the longhouse beside ours.  
  
Whilst attempting to light a fire, I felt the ground shift beneath me. Eyes wide, I clung to one of the beams in panic. Mamere would have laughed so, as would have Freya, my eldest sister.  
  
I however, did not find it funny at all.  
  
After a while it stopped and Godric stumbled into the longhouse, ashen face and parched. I handed him some bread, ale and cheese.  
  
He accepted it, fell against some furs and fell asleep.  
  
Something in me rejoiced: I never did get to see Kelka's body, brained, bloody, clothes torn and skin burnt.  
  
I went to sleep and dreamt of my parents and aunts and thralls. They were still, silent, not smiling. Then they fell from their altar and smashed.  
  
The figure of Godric appeared behind them and in his right hand was Thor's almighty hammer.  
  
*  
  
Early next morning, Godric gave me my pack. He had sorted what we needed the most and packed them himself. I knew how to use a bow, of course, but was surprised to see that I had a sword as well. But, I am only a girl, even if I am a Fordsgirl at that, so I didn't ask questions.  
  
Instead, I followed my brother willingly, gaping at the huge burial mound he had made.  
  
Bowing low, I raced up to it and stuck in a flower.  
  
I hoped that the gods would remember my family. And me.  
  
~  
  
Review? 


	2. Chapter Two

Here, in this fic, you may think that I'm writing in pre-Roman times, but the truth is, even as recent as 'medieval' times, much of Europe was isolated, particularly the small villages like Godric and Gelda's. And this is set in pre-medieval Europe, so there you go. You know how it is in History: we say Jesus lived 2000 years ago, lazily, but we all know he didn't really. It's just easier than to get all scholarly over it.  
  
Even in circa. 980, when that area was part of the Holy Roman Empire.  
  
Obviously not that Holy. Elsewise they wouldn't have had the Vikings *snigger*  
  
Chapter Two  
  
The forest was too big for anyone to pass it by. That was what Godric said when I asked why we weren't headed for the forest which we could go through to get to the main towns. He added that it being so big, we could go through it anytime we wanted.  
  
I asked no more questions.  
  
Our village is encased on it's south, east and west sides, my highland. To the north is the forest and beyond that, as I said before, are the main towns. I wondered if the raiders had gone to them as well.  
  
So, Godric and I went north-east, over the highlands and back down again. It took us five days to cross the wretched hill-country. With us going over such difficult terrain, Godric advised to eat as little as possible, and always when we were walking. He was lucky that there were no survivors from the village, because he'd have a hard enough time trying to convince them that eating less was better. Me being the obedient little sister that I was, I simply obeyed.  
  
I think that I impressed him further when I would gnaw at rope whenever I could avoid eating, but that didn't mean that our supplies weren't going: they were, and Godric was pleased at the slow rate that they were.  
  
And I was pleased that he was pleased.  
  
During the nights, we would camp in the Hollows that were in the sides of the hills, rather like caves, only mossier. Godric insisted on lighting all the fires and never let me see how he would do it, which was strange. Then, I would snuggle up against him, and observe how my auburn hair would mingle with his and how warm and large he was.  
  
I would politely ask for stories. He would grin at me, tug my self-made braids - how I missed Oulani, the old thrall woman. She did the best braids - and pull a blanket around me, all readied to hear a tale.  
  
He was my Godric.  
  
On the third night after travelling through what looked like the same old sheep-terrain, I asked Godric where we were going.  
  
"The port City Pomerania of Wends," he replied. "Where the river Oder empties."  
  
"We'll have a long way north, then," I remarked. Men liked women who spoke intelligently, and I wouldn't have my brother thinking that I was the most ignorant of thrall-mistresses.  
  
"Aye, but we'll take certain... routes. And we'll stop at roadside towns... it won't be so bad, Ahatti."  
  
I frowned in the same way that Mamere would and he laughed. Pulling my nose, he added, "trust me, Ahatti... you'll see."  
  
When the five days were over, we reached lower land. Moor land It was more difficult to find places to take refuge where other tribes wouldn't harm us, but we managed. The flat land had many springs for me and Godric to be able to run at great speed and be able to quench our thirst and not faint or keel over. We filled our gourds over and over that we forgot about the future where we may not be able to have so much water at our disposal.  
  
Only another seven days and we had crossed the wild moor land. We found ourselves in light woodland once again and on the other side of it, was the river.  
  
"Oder?" I asked over the gushing waters.  
  
"Aye!"  
  
He withdrew a few pinches of fround lapis luzili we had taken from the Merchant's longhouse, and threw it into the river. "To Oder!"  
  
I took out a few dried blueberries from my side pack and did the same. "To Oder!"  
  
"Oder the great!"  
  
"Oder! River of rivers!"  
  
He swung me onto his shoulders and ran between the light forestry, always near the river, shouting praises for the river. Who knows what Raider could have gotten us? But we were both too excited and pleased with our fortunes.  
  
We rested that night in a hollow of an elder tree, gnawing on salt beef, munching our apples and wolfing handfulls of dried blueberries downing it all with the slightly bitter ale. Our bread we almost finished that night. Our meat - save for the cursed salt beef - gone.  
  
"Tomorrow, Ahatti," he murmured, stroking my hair gently, "we'll have fish."  
  
"Mmmmmmmmmmm!" I grinned. "Pike?"  
  
"As much as Oder wishes to give us." He replied.  
  
"Bass?"  
  
"Mm... I hope so. Now sleep, Ahatti."  
  
"Yes Godric."  
  
*  
  
We did have fish the next night. And for several night's after as well. I would explore the small forest and collect mushrooms and herbs for the future journey. Once, I had forgotten to take some cheese for lunch when I explored and found a small leaf growing in the ground that tasted sweet like honey and was as filling as bread if I ate enough of them. I looked for more. When I found some, I picked them and kept them to dry.  
  
We travelled at a leisurely pace: Godric would hunt as he did before in our home forest. Rarely was it that he didn't catch something, no matter how small. Just as it had been in our slaughtered village, if he didn't bring any game, he would woo my good humour with herbs.  
  
He began to return to letting me light the fires. He even carved out a bowl for me to make stew in. He lined it with the clay by the river and polished it. I made a good stew with rabbit and the sweet leaf I found before. I think I shall call it 'oxen's clover'. Oxen like sweet things.  
  
On our tenth day in the small forest, as I washed my face in the stream, Godric approached me.  
  
"Ahatti," he began quietly, "where we are going.... you will be in danger, being a girl. If you lose your way in the market, you will be sold as a slave, raped, prostituted... "  
  
I shuddered at the fact that he - a man - would be telling me this.  
  
"I will always be there, but... things happen..." his eyes shifted.  
  
"Aye, I know," I replied, sounding as cold as Mamere whenever Selda - my eldest sister - would come to our longhouse from her husband's, asking for some herbs, fluttering her lashes and deepening her dimples.  
  
"Gelda."  
  
"Aye?"  
  
He paused. "That sword I packed for you... get it."  
  
I clucked my tongue, making his eyes dance, and hurried off to the hollow in which we were staying. I unwound my pack and saw the sword. It was a small one, fit for a young boy who was just beginning swordplay. It fitted my hand perfectly. I recognised it, as well: it was the one called Gryphon.  
  
Out I came again, to see my brother bare-chested. The shock couldn't be described: in the village, men were discouraged from showing too much chest in case their wife grew jealous and divroced them. But there he was, bare- chested before me. He flexed his arm-muscles and rolled his neck and shoulders. I shook my head in disdain, the first time I had ever felt it when concerning him. If I cut him, it may teach him better manners.  
  
I almost laughed at myself.  
  
"Now, Ahatti," he said, white teeth flashing. "Put that sword down."  
  
The surprise showed on my face, but I obeyed. As usual.  
  
"Here," He tossed me a small, sword-sized branch. I caught it. "Attack me."  
  
I gaped at him.  
  
"A-attack?" I whispered.  
  
"Aye, 's'what I said, is it not?" He grinned. "So come on."  
  
I took in a breath. Eyes hardening, the look in my eye caught him unaware: I bet he never thought his 'Ahatti' could look so merciless. I charged at him, 'sword' upraised, ready to bring it down with a slash.  
  
He blocked awkwardly. Then he decided to parry the stroke and force me off, whipping the air expertly with his own 'sword'.  
  
I heard myself growl.  
  
He continued to bring his branch down in violent swipes. I remembered this stance from watching the men at it. I would be like a sprite, and dance around, looking for a space to slip into. I began to attack from the side at his wrist.  
  
He smiled, impressed.  
  
However, I was only a beginner. I tired easily. My attacks lost power. Eventually, I let him put his 'sword' in the 'kill' position.  
  
Looking up to the sky, he roared out his laughter.  
  
~  
  
Wends: You look on a map of Europe. That little crook on the right side of Denmark. Keep on going along the coast until you get to the first large dip in the land, where there are two minute islands there. The mainland bit used to be called Wends. I did research, people. I deserve your reviews. The Sorting Hat never said that all four of the Founders were English. And if it did, be quiet. 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three.  
  
Eventually, the forestry vanished and we found ourselves in a village. Compared to our own village, however, this one was huge:  
  
It had a separate shrine for the local deities and the main ones, too. There were more longhouses here than there had been in out village: a lot more. A greater number of people were walking across streets (our own hamlet had only had one street) and they dressed themselves in expensive enough material and fashions. At first I wondered why the rich women were carrying bundles on their heads, before I realised that their expensive collars signified that they were thralls!  
  
There were also lots more of smaller houses. The simple sort, built by freed thralls. Wattle and daub and no plaster or proper thatch. The stink coming from them made me wrinkle my nose. It was a mixture of dung - human and animal - rotten vegetables and bad meat. I thanked my stars that my boots were still in a good condition: many of the children were barefoot and the sludge was pressed between their toes. Godric seemed to completely unperterbed by it all; in fact, it was as if he were looking for a certain place. I simply stayed near him, getting more and more ashamed of our appearance.  
  
I must look like a wild girl, I thought. A thrall's get.  
  
The very idea made me shudder.  
  
"Be calm, Ahatti," Godric squeezed my hand. I nodded, dumb.  
  
As we walked on, the number of small houses decreased and instead, huge longhouses which could have fitted five of our own, could be seen. My breath stuck in my throat. I was utterly bewildered.  
  
More and more people began to look at us. My brother had not nearly as unruly and raggled appearance as I. Truthfully, he looked more like a marauding King, just returned from his battles than an orphaned, wifeless farmer-merchant's son. It was his red cloak that added to the affect. He hadn't worn it in a long while; maybe he had anticipated all this. For his boot thongs, he used the newer ones I had made from the rabbit skins of only a few days ago. He put sacking over the dark leather of his boots, to make it look like an expensive skin. His shirt was dark and his tunic, although much too short, was a nice, dark green, so it hid the smudges of our rough living.  
  
I however, looked the part of his younger sibling: a foolish nestling. My blue dress was so short that it came over halfway up my shins. I was wearing my other brother's leggings, which I had salvaged from our smoking longhouse. My boots were still of good wear but were crusted with mud of ages, unlike Godric's that looked well-worn, but well looked after, too. My apron was stained, pocketed with soot and burnt out holes. It was very greasy and filth-infested. Even my brooches twinkled dimly, as if their lights had been smothered.  
  
Shuddering again, I did not even want to think about my hair: it would be a tangled mess of auburn - half plaited braids and a few beads attached hither and thither. Clods of dirt and moss wound into it. Were I at home, Mamere would have said, "Loki laughs at your mane," meaning that he'd obviously had it in for me and my hair.  
  
Godric squeezed my hand again.  
  
"We shall stay here for two days," he murmured. "I shall purchas new dresses for you and we will get a horse and cart for the rest of our journey."  
  
"A horse and cart?" I breathed harshly. "Are you mad? Do we know what any of the land ahead will be like?"  
  
"Aye, Ahatti. Wonderful flat land with straight roads between it."  
  
"We'll get robbed!"  
  
He tweaked my nose. I very nearly pushed him away.  
  
Another thing about this village - which I personally regarded as a city - was that it had a tavern. A *real* tavern, huge, dark and warm. I was looking forward to entering it, remembering with a guilty heart, how much Mamere and Papa despised taverns.  
  
"We won't go in there for now," he said quietly. "Let's see what the fruit stalls have to offer us."  
  
It was early noon when we first arrived at this village, and by the time the sky turned to blood and it was daker, Godric and I had bought a good few loaves of bread, some more apples and stolen cider.  
  
The pasties were freshly baked and delicious. Each and every one of the venders that we passed seemed mildly impressed by our coinage.  
  
I began to feel a little bit better.  
  
The tavern was busy, when we entered it, which further impressed me. It was quite light and smoky, filled with the smells of cooking fat and roasting meat, boiling soups and stews. There were blonde fur merchants present, slant-eyed, honey-skinned men and I saw one man as black as the night sky. They all sat in their repsective corners or at their tables, drinking and gambling and shouting and eating and belching at will. I made a face: at Fordshouse, the women would never allow men to behave so in their presence.  
  
And aye, there were women here as well. Tavern wenches, I supposed, though a few rough looking ones were sitting at tables, usually quieter than their fellows. Many had the blonde hair of Raiderwomen. Many had faces with scars etched upon them. I bit my lower lips and kept my gaze to the floor: I could see flashing knives everywhere. At first, I thought I had Witchsight!  
  
"Stay close, Ahatti," Godric muttered. "Keep your head down."  
  
I didn't even have any feeling to contradict him!  
  
Something gripped my heart.  
  
Would someone see that we were so foreign as to steal our purses? Our few belongings? I was terrified: every second, I expected to see some low- living thrall's bastard to come at us with a drawn knife, ready to slice us up.  
  
My admiration for the tavern was tainted with fear.  
  
Godric held tightly onto my hand and shoved his way forward to the front. He approached a very dark and hairy male and murmured something in his ear. I couldn't hear what was said, but I could tell that at first, the stinkard shook his head vehemently and was frowning, but a flash of gold coin and his opinion seemed to change. Godric winked at me. I smiled, still keeping my head down.  
  
Foolish man. Husband of whorish thrallwomen. The familiar insults from Fordshouse came quickly into my head.  
  
We were led outside to a courtyard by a shuffling thrallwoman who had brown hair streaked with grey. One leg, I think, was longer than the other and she had to move her arms much to keep her in balance.  
  
On the other side of the courtyard, were what looked like a series of longhouses. When the thrall opened the door and bade us enter, I realised that there were several rooms within this large longhouse. She shuffled down the passageway and we followed her in the darkness; all we had for light was a tallow candle which stank slightly.  
  
"Masserss..." she whimpered and pushed open another door roughly. She handed me the tallow candle. Godric and I went inside and she left.  
  
He breathed and his breath formed small clouds in the air. It was much colder in here.  
  
"Drop our furs and clothes in a corner,"he ordered quietly. "Find somewhere where you can sleep. Tomorrow, we buy clothes and food. I'll arrange for some coin and the horse and cart will be bought."  
  
"Won't the horse," I started, dropping my pack as he had instructed me, "cost us much? We will have to feed it and keep it clean... what if someone cares to steal it? And our cart?"  
  
"Ah," he breathed and I could see him arrange his own clothes on the brown floor. He sat on them. "No one will steal our horse; no one will steal our cart. You must trust me Ahatti. There are some things that you need not worry for whilst others do. As long as you have me, you will learn to trust. Now, Ahatti - Gelda. I bid thee goodnight."  
  
*  
  
In the early morning, I went through our packs. The dirtiest clothes I set aside to wash and folded the others neatly so that our packs would not be so bulky. I got out the soap and cooking pot Godric had made for me. I sorted out what we had left of the food. All the while, Godric was still asleep.  
  
Men.  
  
I also took out some coins for buying with. It never truly struck me that I had grown out of my complete subservience to Godric. I simply thought he would be pleased.  
  
My dress, I changed. I wore my grey one and the blue leggings. Taking a hint from Godric, I used the clean rabbit skin boot thongs and polished my brooches. A greasy piece of creamy material I used as a headscarf. It would certainly hide my hair.  
  
Setting my shoulders, I prepared myself for meeting the women of this strange new village. Town.  
  
There were four large fountains in the centre of the town, one in front of the tavern. That was the one I first went to. With the air of a native to this town, I set down my baskets, took out my soap and stood between two coarse skinned women, both of whom reminded me of the midwife Gregaia. Opposite me, I saw a nervous, young thing. She must have been a new wife: the way she kept her appearance was like that of Yellena, my second older sister, when she first got married.  
  
I soon got into the rhythm of scraping the dry soap against the clothes, soaking in the water, spreading out against the stones, beating it with my hands and scraping with soap again. There wasn't much talk and few eyes flickered towards me. I worked hard and was surprised when my washing seemed to be finished so quickly.  
  
"Liddle Bun," one of the women next to me said, arm extended, reaching for my shoulder.  
  
"I-I'm sorry... I," I stuttered. What was she saying? Had Godric taken a wrong turning, to take us to a stranger land?  
  
"Doodod leek tho padikee," she went on, smiling.  
  
I knew that I must look like a terrified rabbit. I near stumbled trying to politely get away.  
  
"Be bont urd oo."  
  
"Let me go..." I said, trying to get my voice steadier. Some of the other women looked up at me and murmured. My wits had gone begging.  
  
"Liddle Bun, beleessse!" She said, looking worried. I stopped struggling. She wasn't trying to hurt me. And there was something familiar about her voice...  
  
"Dee busd be ah dewd an," another woman said.  
  
*Liddle Bun?* I thought. Sounded almost like 'Little bun' but why was she calling me bun? Or was she calling me...  
  
...*Little one*?  
  
Ha! I almost shouted out in my cleverness. They all spoke like they had blocked noses!  
  
I smiled at her and she smiled back, wrinkles appearing in her coarse skin. I could see the nervous creature opposite me look up in curiosity. "I am sorry... I couldn't understand you..."  
  
She looked puzzled for a moment, as if trying to work something out. Then she smiled, nodding. "Ai toot id busd be dum'ng lide 'ad..." I then realised that they dropped the 'huh' sounds in their language. And their vowels were all ended in 'i's.  
  
After a few more attempts to understand one another, she showed me where to put the clothes to dry: at Fordshouse, we always hung our wet clothes on fences and made the little ones watch over them lest any bird should leave a small gift on them, or some prig with light fingers would happen to work their fingers on our sodden garments.  
  
"They'll get stolen!" I protested.  
  
The woman shook her head. "Be boemend lood affdee ead udderth tings..."  
  
"Thank you, lady!" I grinned. "Thank you very much!"  
  
The other women laughed and nodded. "Thhaink yow," they began to imitate me. "Thhaink yow laidee.... thhaink yow veer mooch!"  
  
"Door'all beldum," I replied and skipped away before they could run after me.  
  
I was pleased to hear them laughing.  
  
*  
  
Godric only accompanied me when I went for food, because he had to give me something to barter with. He said. We bought some beans for our soups and hard bread that was soft and buttery within. These would last us, he added, as we exchange a brooch inlaid with amber for several loaves.  
  
As much as we hated salt beef, we had to have it because it lasted. I saw a small bag of lapis lazuli handed over for a sqaure portion of meat. Of course, he would leave it to me to get it salted.  
  
Men.  
  
As a gift, he traded for small pots and spoons, just for me. He also got me a knife that had the runes, 'Think well on me' etched upon it's ivory handle. Godric seemed intent on spoiling me, and I became worried that our meagre precious supplies would vanish. When I was given a string of beads, an ebony comb and ribbons, this only served to make me worry further. Men know little of how to manage money.  
  
"Now," he said firmly, "for clothes."  
  
First of all, he swapped my old boots - and two silver coins - for a new pair, just as hardy but with a thicker sole and stronger seam. They were a relief for my feet, also, as my toes were becoming sore due to the fact that my boots were getting small for me.  
  
We got to the dressmaker and were lucky enough to find two already made, fine-looking dresses. One was a deep red - the same colour as Godric's cloak - another a woody brown so deep it could make you drunk just looking at it and the last, oh, the last! It was a strange mixture of the two colours that look best on me: grey and blue. It was the colour of the lavender herb Mamere would grow, only paler. I asked Godric for a new apron, belt and stockings. Laughing, he obeyed.  
  
And all the while, his money bag never seemed to empty.  
  
This did not cause me to wonder, at first, but as the day went on, I became sorely troubled by it. Had Godric gambled? It seemed foolish to be wondering, but I wondered all the same.  
  
On our way back to our room, I went to the drying place and got down the clothes I had washed.  
  
"What if they had been stolen?" He teased.  
  
I stuck out my tongue.  
  
"And you, sir," I growled, teasing him in return. "What have *you* been up to?"  
  
"I got us the money which we have spent on your dresses." He answered, face all honesty and truth. I snorted and he grinned. "Aye, and drank good ale and got others to drink with me."  
  
"Tha' demon!" I muttered and skipped away down the passageway.  
  
With no cautious thought in my skull.  
  
In the murkiness, all I could see was the flashing knife, so I screamed. The man who was holding it was dark and wearing a hood. But from his beard, I could tell it was a man. He roughly grabbed my arm, twisted it and pushed me away against a wall. I was still screaming, so he kicked at me.  
  
I heard Godric come running in. I heard him shout. I looked up and through the tears, I saw the man with the knife leave me and move towards my brother.  
  
"Godric!" I screamed.  
  
"Sorceror!" The man cried gruffly, and ran at my brother, flashing knife in one hand and sword in another. "You too are in the service of Her!"  
  
"Silence," Godric said in a low voice, his tone scaring me; so cold and calm was it.  
  
"I will not be silenced! Sorceror!" The man tried to stab him, but Godric upturned his hand and brought his own sword forward. In one swift movement, he gutted the murderer. I knew, however, that one does not always die instantly from such wounds.  
  
Godric knew it too: as he shouted, "Go, Ahatti! Go!" and I scrambled up, gathering the clothes and basket hurriedly, I saw him withdraw a short stick from his belt. He was pointing it to the man's head and with his other hand, choking him.  
  
"Your cawing serves to irritate me, thrall," Godric said coldly. His lips moved and suddenly, flames leapt up from the man's body, dancing as the murderer screamed horribly.  
  
Within a moment, the flames were gone and all that remained was a pile of dust in the passageway.  
  
Godric got up.  
  
"Stay there, Ahatti," he said, his voice grave. Frozen by the sight I had seen, I nodded and let Godric pass me.  
  
"It's as I thought," I heard him say from our room. "Ahatti, come." Breathing heavily, I went forward.  
  
Our room was as dark as we had left it, with the cleaner clothes all folded as I had arranged them. Our precious belongings were still neatly stacked. Godric must have done that; I shook my head at his folly.  
  
Yet there, in the middle of the room, was a pale, young man, his neck twisted and so deeply cut, his head had almost been severed fully.  
  
His blood was splattered only on one wall, for which I was grateful, but what amazed me the most was that his clothes were of an excellent quality, as if he were a Lord's son: his cloak was purple, and a lush one, made from a thick, tightly woven wool. The hem was of gold.  
  
The man's boots were a soft leather, ideal for riding. His breeches seemed to be made of a finer wool, almost like linen, but wool all the same - I knew because Yellena had a talent for weaving that well - and it was the colour of the sky. He wore a tunic, edged with gold, of a deep blue. His shirt was yellow, a pale, clean yellow.  
  
His face was pleasant to look at, even now, in death. The rolled eyes were green, the tousled hair yellow as a Raider's.  
  
Godric seemed oblivious to this detail as he turned the corpse over with a foot. He knelt at it and shifted the cloak, so that he could get at the belt which was a dark leather, also stitched with gold: I held my breath.  
  
Waving the same stick over the corpses belt, and muttering some strange word, I saw a rolled bit of parchment and a small brown bag appear.  
  
Godric read it repeatedly. He sighed. Then he took the purse aside. It jingled. Tossing it to me, he said, "take that, little mamere. You be the mistress." I caught it, still puzzled.  
  
"'Twas a messenger," he said, getting up. "Sent from a friend."  
  
"Do you want us to leave now?" I asked.  
  
"Nay... we'll stay for the next day as intended."  
  
As he did with the murderer, he pointed the stick at the corpse. It burst into flames, but there was no screaming.  
  
"And, Ahatti," he said, smiling slightly, "we didn't even have to pay for the horse."  
  
*  
  
We ate our meal in silence.  
  
"Are you a sorceror?" I asked over some stew and mutton. "That man called you one."  
  
There was a silence.  
  
He chewed. "Aye. I am."  
  
I looked at him, not quite believing that he had admitted it so freely! I had expected him to be all coy and shifty, the way men get when they're trying to hide something. "Did Mamere know?"  
  
"Aye." He sponged up what was left of his stew with a bit of bread and took some of my mutton. He grinned at me.  
  
"Leave off, louse!" I said, smiling despite it. "Did Papa know?"  
  
"Aye, why else do you think I wasn't married sooner?"  
  
I shrugged. "Thought Papa didn't want you to leave us."  
  
He shook his head. "He wanted me to marry another sorceress. There two already planned." He took some more of my mutton. "From the main town."  
  
"S'that why you didn't want us to go there?"  
  
"Aye." He leaned back. "Why so many questions, Ahatti?"  
  
I shrugged again.  
  
"Planning to tell someone?" He asked.  
  
I shook my head.  
  
"Good." He nodded. "Louse," he added with a grin.  
  
~  
  
Damn. I had no idea that chapter was so long! Ah, well... 


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four  
  
I could not sleep properly that night. The thought that someone had been killed within our house was what partly disturbed me as well asthe thought that there was so much about my brother that I did not know.  
  
He was a sorceror.  
  
With the dawning of the morning, I swiftly rose from my sleeping place and hauled one of Godric's cloaks around me to protect myself from the morning frost. I did not look back at Godric to see if he were still asleep. I did not really care.  
  
The streets were near empty when I reached them. I recognised two women from the washing plce yesterday, stringing out fish from their husband's latest catches. They smiled and waved at me and so I smiled and waved back.  
  
I began to explore Pomerania. I had changed my mind about it and decided that it was most definitely a town, if not a small city.  
  
I went through the streets and had to remark every house I passed so that I would not get lost. Being so early, the muddy streets were hard but I knew that once the trading began, it would get churned up into sludge by horses and carts. Eventually, I found that the strong salt air was getting more and more salty and smelling more and more of fish. As I turned round one corner, I found out why.  
  
Pomerania, I now had to admit was a true city. In fact, it was more than that. It was the busiest port I had ever seen.  
  
And the first one, If I was to be honest.  
  
There were ships of two main kinds: fishing vessels and evil looking, slim- lined beauties that seemed to slice through the water like a knife guts fish. I could only stare at the number of people about. It was still quite early in the morning and I knew that it would get a lot more crowded as the day drew on.  
  
Men went barechested here, something that I found still shocked me. It was going to take a lot of effort to forget the old ways: If I didn't, I would become an old woman before my time.  
  
The fishermen shouted coarsely to one another and threw their nets over to each other before dumping them on the side where their young women would take them away to mend them. I kept away from the fishermen: everyone knows that they will steal anything.  
  
I edge around the wharf, trying to avoid them and also not to look at their barechests lest one of their women think I am trying to steal him (even that is wishful thinking, though: I am much too plain).  
  
I eventually get round to a jetty and sit on it's edge as there is no boat to come. One of my legs begin to swing over the edge of it's own accord and I watch the sea folk unload their wares, go back with their wives to their homes, with a detatched eye. I am not used to feeling like this; melancholy usually annoys me and if I should annoy myself, well then, I'm in some trouble.  
  
I did not notice that someone was approaching me until they sat down. Startled, I looked up at the person, a young man who grinned apologetically.  
  
"It seems I have made a mistake," he said. He seemed friendly, but I was too busy staring. There were ochre lines that swirled in strange patterns across his face, the tips ending in a strange turquoise colour.  
  
"Oh?" I said eventually. His hazel eyes flashed in amusement.  
  
"You are, however, Gelda, sister of Godric, are you not?" He asked.  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Ah," he said. "Well then, may I be so bold as to ask that you cease your philosophical wanderings - as you so obviously were, as you didn't realise my presence until I was well sat here - and guide me to where he is presently resting?"  
  
Before I could open my mouth, a familiar voice behind me said, "She won't have to. I'm right here."  
  
The tattooed boy and I leapt up and he gave a small bow to Godric who looked amused as well. They both seemed to know each other.  
  
"How is Salazar?" Godric said swiftly. The youth chuckled.  
  
"The same as always. He sent me here to get a reply from you as to what happened to Godfrey."  
  
"Godfrey?" Godric frowned slightly.  
  
"He belonged to one of Lady Rowena's livery and had been sent with more money for your supplies." A shadow fell across the tattooed boy's face. "He sent a pigeon saying that he had landed safely here, but we hadn't heard anything of him since."  
  
"Ah."  
  
The boy looked mildly frightened for a moment. "Why the 'ah', my lord? What has happened?"  
  
"He was killed."  
  
The boy said something in a strange language under his breath which I could tell were mild swear words. "The money?"  
  
Godric gave a cold smile. "I have it. I killed the man who killed your Godfrey. I have the message as well."  
  
"Praise be!" The youth exclaimed.  
  
"This does mean," Godfric went on, frowning again, "that you are in danger."  
  
The boy gave a wave of his hand and a sound remarkably like hissing came from his mouth. "That is no problem to me. If I die, I die. It will show that Salazar was right and I am getting too slow and proud."  
  
My brother laughed out loud. "Salazar said that? Yes, that sounds like him. I have never met someone so determined to translate the silver lining of a cloud to mean a thunderstorm." The youth chuckled as well.  
  
"Who is Salazar?" I said quickly.  
  
"A friend of mine who you will meet in a months time," Godric assured me. "You will know him when you see him and when you do, you will know that you can trust him. I owe him many favours and he likewise." He chuckled again.  
  
I turned to the youth who grinned in approval.  
  
"Is he your master?" I asked. He shook his head.  
  
"He is my uncle." Before I could ask my second question, he added, "I got the tattoo's a long time ago, when I was very small: my uncle, Salazar, didn't do them." Turning back to Godric, he said, "I must go now; I see all is well."  
  
"Be careful," Godric warned.  
  
"We are always careful," the youth said. "But it is too cold and far from true land here: I must go quickly before I shrivel up," and with that, he gave a shout of laughter, nodded finally, turned and made his way back to the ships. Before I knew it, he had vanished.  
  
"Who was he?" I asked my brother as he himself turned away, indicating that we go home together.  
  
"His name is Slytherine Kale. His people always put the family name first, so I suppose his actual name is Kale Slytherine." Despite the fact that he was talking and walking quite quickly, he did not seem to be out of breath.  
  
I piped up, "Would you be Fordsson Godric?"  
  
He laughed again, "Aye. You'd be Fordsdaughter Gelda."  
  
I smiled a small smile to myself. I rather liked that.  
  
I did not bother to remarkt he houses that we passed: Godric seemed to know where he was going and I wondered if he had ever been to this port before.  
  
The streets were beginning to fill up with people. I saw housewives sweep out their homes and husbands, chickens and children. Old men plced straight, short planks of wood atop overturned barrels to play chess. Young girls played with their dolls and older girls flirted with the older boys. It reminded me all very forcibly of our own village that we had left, but on a smaller scale. Tears found their way to my eyes and I began to choke.  
  
"Where are we going from here?" I asked Godric eventually.  
  
"From Pomerania?" He asked gravely. I nodded.  
  
He sighed before answering. "Tonight, we will set sail in one of the Raider ships and head for Angleland."  
  
I frowned. "I have never heard of the place."  
  
He snorted. "Yes you have. They pride themselves for being select but many of them are the gets of Greeks and Romans and their slaves. They are a nice people in both senses of the word, but they like to hide it beneath their fear."  
  
"Of what?"  
  
"Raiders. Themselves. Old ways exchanged for new ways exchanged for ways newer or perhaps older still." He sighed. "Mish-mash people."  
  
I was still frowning. "Like the pale ones to the West?" I asked.  
  
"Aye." He smiled.  
  
"Like Fordsleader Hound?" I dared. This time Godric shook his head slowly.  
  
"I hope he is happy wherever he is, though." And we made our way back to our lodgings in silence.  
  
*  
  
We ate our supper in the tavern on my request. I wanted to at least see these people despite the fact that they were vulgar and loud. How long would it take to reach Angleland? I would be surrounded by the same people everyday and the sea, never changing.  
  
Then fear clutched at my belly. What if there was a storm? What if we were to be tossed off the ship, tossed into the sea? Despite all my courage, I still feared Death. I still feared whatever path I would take to Death. If I were as cleverly pious as Kelka, I would not fear it. But I wasn't pious, clever or anything like that, I was, I thought to myself, foolishly proud and fearful.  
  
I sighed deeply and continued to chew at my fish stew: the catch from the morning had been large, so the whole town feasted on the stuff.  
  
Godric put his head closer to mine, worry in his eyes. "What is wrong, Ahatti?" Startled, I looked up at him: it felt like ages since he had last called me that.  
  
I sucked in my lips. "I'm scared: what should happen if we were to die, or one of your so-called friends would turn treacherous. It does happen. Why are we going to Angleland anyway?"  
  
He put down his mug of ale calmly and swallowed.  
  
"We won't die, Ahatti. Not yet. And none of my so-called friends, as you put it, will turn treacherous. It is not possible. There are some bonds which run far deeper than an ordinary oath, Ahatti, as you will soon learn," he attempted a smile at me.  
  
I was not satisfied. "Were you planning to go as you were had the Raiders not come?"  
  
He picked up his mug again and drank. After swallowing, he hesitated "Aye."  
  
My throat tightened.  
  
"Why did you hesitate?" I asked.  
  
He looked away and gave a quiet sigh. We both seemed to be suffering from some affliction of the gut: our melancholy was unbearable.  
  
"They were not Raiders," he said quietly. "They were... of the same people who killed Godfrey and of the man who tried to kill me." He looked at me, his dark brown eyes still. The fear that had clutched at my belly was worming it's way upwards to my heart. I felt as if I had frozen. "They are the opponents of my friends and I. They want us dead because we're not doing what they want us to do. That is all I can say right now: the reality is much more complicated."  
  
"What do they want you to do?" I asked softly.  
  
His eyes darkened in anger. "They want us to abandon our plans to help... people. They want to keep the knowledge for themselves and keep others in thrall of them. The way the dark haired soldiers did for their Caesar... no, you are not old enough to have heard the stories properly yet."  
  
Something seemed to click in my mind. "Do you mean other sorcerors? You want to help some sorcerors and others don't want you to."  
  
Godric looked at me, eyes bright. He nodded before clearing his throat and saying, "Aye."  
  
I was silent for a bit. "Was that why you tried to teach me how to fight with a sword? To defend myself?" He nodded again.  
  
"You would have the right build; you are growing into yourself, and you don't notice it. When we're on the ship, I will train you up properly. The ship belongs to a Raider Merchant and he has many stops to make." Godric grinned. "I know the sea life will toughen you up and you will not be the only woman aboard so you will have plenty of your own for company: they are much like our own women, the Raiderwomen, only they speak differently and are quieter in the presence of men." He leaned back and closed his eyes.  
  
But that wasn't what worried me. There was something else on my mind.  
  
"Godric," I said finally. He rose his eyebrows. "You are a sorceror and my brother. I am your true sister, I'm not some thrall's get off our Papa. Wouldn't that make me a sorceror too, or can only men do... that?"  
  
He blinked at me and then began to chuckle. "Do you remember Lady Rowena who Kale and I mentioned?" He asked. "She is by far more powerful than me, not that that is saying much: most people are better than I. However, she is most definitely a woman, and no hag either. She has Caesar-blood in her, which adds to her beauty. You will see." Godric then paused. "Many people can become sorcerors: some do. Others either cannot, or will not. We have the same blood, it is true: why, perhaps between sword practise, I shall teach you how to read!" His smile widened.  
  
My cheeks flushed. "You treat it as if it is a jest."  
  
"And I am sorry if it upsets you. But yes, I shall teach you how to read and how to fight properly. On the ship, we will have a lot of time to ourselves." He swallowed the last of his stew and bread, gulped down with the dregs of ale. I followed suit, knowing that that was his way of saying we should be getting our things ready.  
  
*  
  
Godric told me that I should pack my dresses at the bottom of my bags and wear leggings, a sleeveless tunic and a long armed, shorter tunic tucked into my leggings. He bade me dress simply and that the only wealth I should wear would be in my brooch and bracelets. Tucked into my belt, he added my ivory handled knife.  
  
"I want you to dress like a man," he said, "but show that you are a woman."  
  
I brushed out my hair which, I was delighted to see, had grown maginifcently, cascading down a little past my shoulders. I placed it in a woman's knot at the back of my head, so that the bundle would touch the nape of my neck. Godric seemed to approve.  
  
We packed the little food that we had: although we were guests on the ship, it was mere politeness to share some of our food.  
  
I did not see what Godric had packed, though not for lack of trying. I realised then that I never truly knew what it was that took up so much space in his baggage. I decided not to be so lazy and disrespectful.  
  
Despite it being so late, I was not tired. My fingers quickly sped over every buckle and strag that would keep our baggages safe. My eyes were on the lookout for anything we may have left behind.  
  
We crept out into the darkness. Watchmen nodded at us sleepily, not bothering to hassle us. Thieves would not be able to see us: several times I could see their eyes glaze over my brother and I. That was when I truly appreciated that he was, indeed, a sorceror.  
  
We finally reached the port. Two thickset looking seamen were standing by a boat, the only men present who were even mildly quiet. Godric went over to them and spoke hurridely and quietly. They nodded continuosly, which I took as a good sign.  
  
Godric beckoned me over. "Get in the boat," he hissed. "I'll find you. I just need to get our horse and cart." H egave a nod to the seamen and vanished into the darkness.  
  
"In you go, Fordslady," one said quietly and helped me climb over. Safely inside the boat which actually had more space than I had thought, I stared at him: only young Fordsmen called a village woman 'Fordslady'. I gave him a small smile and found a small area where I could snuggle into with my things.  
  
Soon, I heard the clipping of horses hooves on the streets and a plank was slammed upon the edge of our boat for the horses to climb up; I had never seen a horse that looked so spectacular: It was probably the moonlight.  
  
Behind the horse came my brother and he was holding what looked like wheels under his arm. The two seamen followed him and stacked more pieces of wood witht he wheels against the side of the ship. Godric grinned at me and approached where I was, taking a seat by me.  
  
I gave a small smile.  
  
"Rest, Ahatti," he whispered. "You are going to need it."  
  
~  
  
Sorry I haven't updated for so long... 


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five  
  
When I woke up, I felt the ground beneath me roll from side to side. At first I was still groggy and didn't quite realise what was going on, but then all signs of sleep fled and I started.  
  
"Godric?" Was the first thing I said, sounding like a whining merchant's brat crying for it's mother. I got up from my position on the ground and noticed the blankets around my feet. I kicked them off and got up, brushing my clothes out.  
  
I looked around and smiled gingerly in return to some of the burly men's morning greetings. It was Godric I was looking out for.  
  
Unsteady on my feet, I went over to the stern to the man I assumed to be the captain (him being the biggest and wearing the most furs). He was already talking to one of the seamen - a scrawny but toughened lad who grinned at me over the captain's shoulder.  
  
"Excuse me," I said politely enough, and he turned, almost surprised to see me, and looked down.  
  
"Aye lass?" I couldn't recognise his almost slurring, tongue clicking accent.  
  
"Mm... you wouldn't happen to know where my brother is?" I asked.  
  
The captain began to wonder, but then a sudden look of realisation filled his eyes and he grinned a little looking out, over my shoulder. "Aye: there'b'is."  
  
I looked over and saw my brother, furs hung over his shoulders and wrapped across his torso, shivering slightly in the crisp air. He reminded me of a beaver.  
  
I grinned, walking over to him. "Good morning, older brother. Bit cold isn't it?"  
  
He scowled at me and didn't speak until we were so far out that no sign of land, not even birds, could be seen from our boat.  
  
For that first day, I got myself used to me new surroundings and what would be expected of me. First and foremost, I learned that as one of the few females on the boat, I was expected to remain quiet and in the background: I wasn't expected to be some sort of thrall or whore, however, and the sailors didn't truly care what we did so long as we were quiet and behaved as maindenly as we could manage.  
  
I did my best not to get underfoot, tried to learn the names of the sailors and looked out over the edge of the boat, realising some strange desire to leap in.  
  
As such things go and as I have mentioned before, I was by no means the only female on the boat: four of us there were - three in truth as the oldest of us (hair a dark, iron grey, with eagle's eyes and lines on her face inflicted by both man and time) was a Poetess and - from what I heard of her - could outdrink, outsing and outlaugh any man present on a good day. I and the other two women had a strange sort of respect for her, halfway between fear and genuine understanding, for she had done her best to be as friendly as possible on first meeting us.  
  
"Ye've got strong arms, wench," she had said to me, flashing her white, pearly teeth in a wolf-like grin, as she squeezed my bicep in jest. "I bet'choo coul' just about floor any'un of these fellas who tried to take you under!" And she had laughed at my cautious smile. I fell in love with her instantly.  
  
The remaining women were very different.  
  
Eisla was a Raiderswoman, you could see it in her face. She was sweet as any Raiderswoman can be expected to be, but I kept my distance because even when she smiled gently, I could still see the hidden bloodlust in her eye. Her hair was a light brown and her eyes a pale blue. When she smiled, dimples appeared in her cheeks and I noiced she had the habit of tossing her head at times, so that her very long hair billowed about her.  
  
The last woman was Malig. She was the complete opposite of Eisla in terms of looks and character and race: her blue-black hair and pale-tan skin revealed her to be of a mixed heritage, but notably of Caesar stock. Her eyes were a forest green which had pale yellow specks that served to light up her eyes like anything. Unlike Eisla who was by nature gentle and meek, but by blood, ever lusting after the heat of battle and the stench of sweat and death, Malig was half-wild, one minute her speech no better than a common whore's, the next as eloquent as any FordsMother's. She meant no harm and was indeed gentle in spirit, but on the outside sharp as briar. She would tease Eisla mercilessly and hound the Poetess for songs. Me, she would hold by hand and stroke my palm, squinting at it and pretending to be a Seer.  
  
However, as I had with the gentle Raiderswoman, Eisla, I kept my distance: they were all some bit older than me - around Godric's age - and I had not the faintest idea in how I should deal with them.  
  
That first day flew by and so did the second. As the journey drew on, Godric would have me sit with him as the skies darkened over us, either watching the soldiers arm-wrestle or point out the stars and the pictures of the firmanent, as he called them.  
  
It was on the eighth day that, when we had finished our breakfast, he slapped me on the shoulder and bade me get up and unwrap Gryphon from the leather thongs in which I'd bound her.  
  
"We have work to do with your arm," he said cheerfully. "Both, in fact."  
  
Brothers.  
  
First, he started by watching me walk, observing my stance when he first challenged me, correcting my grip on the shorter sword and ending with showing me some very simple moves, attacks and blocks, in co-ordinated patterns.  
  
"I'll let you catch your breath," he smiled. "I'm serious though, Ahatti: I want to see you carrying as much as you can and throwing a little more than your weight around; I want you to be strong, Gelda. Someday..." he sighed and looked to the sky. "Go back to the other women, will you? You still need to learn a proper lady's habits for when you get to meet Rowena."  
  
Time, as it tends to do, went on. I really did start pulling more than my own weight around and though I couldn't see much of a difference in my physique, I noticed that I was less out of breath after my 'lessons' in sword-fighting and could toss the bulky sacks of grain and dried fish and spices which our captain had brought to us at each stop, over the edge of the ship with more ease than I could have previously.  
  
The sailors saw my sword lessons as entertainment: many of them had Raiders or Caesar or even Pale blood in them and a woman learning to fight with a sword was an uncanny sight. The Poetess saw my lessons as inspiration, for she found the inspiration for more songs and poetry, gently mocking the 'girl with a long tongue of steel' which drew laughs at suppertime. Malig liked to tease as well, but she kept an eye on me during my lessons and shredded any soldier's dignity if they dared to go too far with their teasing.  
  
After the third stop at land, Godric, as my sword exercises became more complicated, took it upon himself to teach me to read and - eventually - sorcery, the latter always out of sight of the others aboard the ship.  
  
First, he started by teaching me the ones he thought would be the most well- known to me: the Raiders ' Futhark'.  
  
It's true that it was the most familiar, because when the Raiders had come for us in previous years, the slain would have their treasures stripped of them and many an ivory bit would have blackened runes burned into it. So yes, they were familiar to me, but I couldn't read them.  
  
He then proceeded to teach me the language which, for all it sounded vaguely similar, was so unlike our own it set my head swimming. Still, Godric persevered my inability to learn languages as quickly as he could and had me speaking Raiders tongue almost as often as that of our own land and the sailor/Pomerania dialect that I had learned.  
  
Halfway through true mastery of the Raiders tongue and script, Godric moved on to teach me the common Caesar tongue (Latin, he named it), the Caesar script and then - to my rather stupid surprise - how to write it, as in, actually making the marks myself.  
  
I felt myself lurch between hate and admiration then, I remember, for Godric. He would force me to mock fight with real steel, and in betwen lunges, he would speak to me in either Latin or Raiders tongue and expect me to speak it back. He would ask me questions about the stars, give me annoying riddles and ask me about various stories of the Gods (old and new) told at firesides.  
  
He was trying to educate me.  
  
And it worked: I was lazy when it came to writing, but my ear was keen - I discovered - and my tongue quick to adopt new shapes.  
  
Our journey went on.  
  
It was as we were approaching Friesland that I really first spoke with Eisla.  
  
Morning was approaching and the sun was just about to light up the clear, grey waters and, as was my habit by then, I stood against the inside belly, leaning on the edge, letting my hair dance in the wind.  
  
"My daughter, Gelda?" I heard her voice behind me. "Awake already?"  
  
I nodded and smiled. "I never used to get up early, but now I don't want to waste time sleeping."  
  
She nodded. "I understand that, well enough." Eisla made her way over, moving between the three or four sailors keeping watch at that time, and stood next to me. "So," she began after a pause, "your brother is teaching you how to fight with a sword." I looked at her, wondering what she was going to say. "I applaud him, but only so much," she added.  
  
Why did I bristle at that moment? She had done no harm to me.  
  
"Oh?" Was all I said.  
  
She nodded again. "Aye. Men - all men - can only be applauded so much. They do not know of the woman's way - they think we all fight as they do, but it is not true: mayhap we do on the battlefield, but in our hearts, no: men still fight with long tongues of steel; women use the small point with a poisoned edge. Do you see what I'm saying?"  
  
I looked out to the boundless sea and nodded a little. She laughed, the first time I have ever heard her laugh and shook her head.  
  
"Of course you don't; but you will. You'll see." She nodded to herself.  
  
There was silence.  
  
"Once," she began, her voice soft, fingers twining in her hair, "once I was a mother and a wife and a daughter and an aunt. Once, a while ago now." she looked out across the sea as well; by this time, the sun's rays were lightly skimming over the surface, as if afraid to touch. "I had a home, a village, a husband and a family. I wasn't even just a wife. I was the Headswoman of my folk. I had married young, but married well, as they say."  
  
I looked at her.  
  
"And then one day, the Raiders to the North came." She sighed. "I know you and your people would consider me Raider, and indeed, in some way I am; my language and that of the Raiders are similar as are our customs, but we live differently: my people live for our land - we are farmers and only turn warrior when our land is threatened. Those to the North exist only to kill and destroy." A small, sad smile crept up on her face. "They killed us all. They killed my husband and brothers and fathers and uncles. They killed my mothers, but not my sisters or my daughters or sons: that, I am thankful for."  
  
I thought for a moment. Who had suffered worse, I wondered, myself or her?: I too had seen loved ones dead. "Then?"  
  
"Then? I had them bound off for the land of Caesar's, for the land of Alba-- "  
  
"Alba?"  
  
"Ah," she stopped. "You perhaps call it Angleland or something similar." Her smile widened. "You learn a lot travelling as I have." I smiled a little at that as well and remembered the washing women in Pomerania. She was right.  
  
"No matter," she continued, "I decided, my shackles of men destroyed, to travel and see all the wonders that have been told to me from childhood. And that is what I want to say to you: one day I was the most loved woman in the world, and the sun was low, but the earth warm and yielding. Then, the soil turned hard as rock and red for excess of blood and bone and the sun was high and burnt at my eyes and caused a stench. Now my earth is sea and my sun so low but so lovely and I have a Fordsdaughter for want of a confesse."  
  
"What--" I began, "what are you trying to say?"  
  
Eisla looked at me, stern and loving and I was taken aback. "There is only one road, one destination for all. You will take it as all others do but you must decide how you will equip yourself - and mind you, you will not always have inns and merchant lines to join or rest in, as you follow the road." She coughed. "Never mind. I just wanted someone to talk to... come with me and help me with my sewing."  
  
I did.  
  
We never, as you have no doubt predicted, had such a talk again, but as she taught me how to sew - a skill I'd lost amidst our wanderings - she told me of fantastic beasts that she had seen so far and many more she hoped to. She told me of herbs and cookery and invited me to try out with the supper of the sailors. Eventually, I dared, and no one died of poisoning so I suppose I was not nearly as bad as I thought myself.  
  
Malig, I soon discovered, had become very good friends with Eisla and it felt nice, being amongst my fellow women, gossiping amd sewing and whistling and so on. Godric would often comment on how much healthier and happier I looked. Of course, I knew why.  
  
The ships course took us along the coast of Lower Lotharinga where it was that Malig had to alight. She had tears in her eyes, scared of never seeing us again until Eisla took her in hand and she calmed down. Still, I was sad as well, because she had been the brave one.  
  
"Take this," Malig shoved an object wrapped in cloth into my hand. "It is all I have to give you and I know I'll remember you that way."  
  
When the ship set sail again and the nameless, tiny port out of view, I unwrapped the cloth to find a well-crafted dagger.  
  
Godric began to teach me sorcery in earnest not long after that.  
  
The lessons in sorcery started not long after he began teaching me the old Greek scripts and the even older ones from the Nile area (a river, he told me, that was far south: he had not been there but had heard tales from Rowena, the Caesar-get).  
  
If I expected the lessons to be any easier than my sword fighting, my reading, or my cooking lessons, I was well wrong.  
  
To begin with, Godric tried to teach me control. Control of how I responded to the things around me, control of my thoughts... It was very difficult, very tiring; especially as we had these lessons when most of us on board the ship had gone to sleep. If not for my trust of Godric and th duty I felt towards him, I would have given up with my plans to become a sorceress altogether. But I persevered and lost many hours of sleep.  
  
By now, I had recognised a pattern to the way Godric was teaching me. Just as I was beginning to think that I was able to empty and gather my thoughts and collect myself, he began to teach me how to think: he taught me how even the very worst things could result in something good and then would proceed to wonder whether it just seemed that way and we only said such things to make ourselves feel better.  
  
"Then what is the point of asking me and telling me these things, when you're only going to then discredit them?" I once snapped at him.  
  
He grinned at me and simply said, "control, Ahatti."  
  
Ah, how I hated him then!  
  
Such riddles and mind bending thoughts he would continue to throw at me, calling it all an education. I soon realised that if I hoped to turn myself into a beast of the air or sea by sorcery, it would take a long time coming.  
  
This pattern of reading scrolls and volumes Godric had bought at markets where we stopped or had brought with him from home, and thinking useless thoughts carried on, well until I thought he had run out of things to teach me.  
  
Three weeks had passed and so I braved the ridcule of the sailors and asked the captain how long it would be before we reached Angleland.  
  
"'Twould be anuther fahve or so dayz, gal," he said to me, rather absently, before returning to another, no doubt more important query, from a fellow sailor.  
  
Eisla watched me with interest between my fighting lessons (Godric was now teaching me how to brawl with the help of several enthusiastic sailors) and my thinking and reading lessons. "I wonder why he's turning you into a scholar?" She asked bluntly over sewing.  
  
I snorted. "I am hardly a scholar: can barely write and hate the thinking. Maybe he just wants someone he can talk to when we keep on travelling."  
  
"Ah," she said. There was a pause before she went on; "You are bound for Alba, too, aren't you?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Perhaps we can journey some of the way together," she gave a faint smile.  
  
"That would be nice," I agreed, and I meant it.  
  
It was clear when we were crossing rhe strait between what had once been called Gaul (so said Godric) and Angleland (or Alba). The sea had a strange, constricted look to it, as if squeezed between two pieces of land (which indeed it was) and so capable of only flowing one way. It was an odd, dark green-blue colour as well, quite unlike the dark grey of Pomerania waters.  
  
Godric, I noticed, was becoming more and more edgy, more distracted. It was then that the danger he had outlined previously came closer to the heart. One of the most terrifying things that I managed to conjure within my head was if we were kidnapped or overwhelmed by hordes of warrior-sorcerers and met a particularly painful death.  
  
But, I am jumping ahead of myself, as usual.  
  
A day and a half or so before we reached the strait, Godric began to teach me the sorceror's craft properly.  
  
"I can't stand your mooching around and I need something new to do," he shrugged as an excuse.  
  
To my surpise, Godric didn't really start to teach me the sorceror's craft by himself; he first began by forcing me to read more books. Although in some respects. these were more interesting, I found that the words were clumsily flung around and loosley assembled, making it difficult for me to understand. When I get to meet these other sorceror-scholars, the first thing I would do will be to have them learn how to write properly, I thought to myself.  
  
In secret, I tried to perform some of the tricks they taught. I found the short stick that Godric often held tucked into his tunic with his belt, and tried to make light appear; other times, when away from either he or Eisla, I would be particularly ambitious and stare for a long time at certain objects, usually with no clue what to do with it should it have moved. The objects didn't. however. I do recall, though, that accidents tended to happen around those times, but I dismissed them: on a boat, accidents always happen.  
  
Our captain had decided that we would sail across the strait at a lesiurely pace - when Godric showed me what he called a map, I saw that the strait was actually quite a short distance, in comparison to how much we had walked to get to Pomerania. We took our time, however, and arrived on Alban soil in more or less five days hence.  
  
Our ship arrived on the southermost shore at a small port, early morning. Our captain called out to some men ashore, who grinned heartily at us and hurried along to tie our ship to shore.  
  
There was a grey mist that hung over the land, I had seen it from when we were approaching the white cliffs. My heart sunk and it must have shown in my face because Godric grinned, slapped me on the back and said "'Tis not nearly as bad as it looks!"  
  
Hm.  
  
Before us passengers could alight onto ground, the captain had his men take our horses and dissembled cart onto the land first, as well as some of the valuables that they had sailed with from Pomerania to trade with. I realised too, that Eisla had a horse of her own, which seemed silly, because we'd spent so much time together, but I hadn't before and could tell from her eyes that what they said about the Raiderfolk was true: they are never more at home than on a horse's back - her eyes lit up when her deceptively gentle mare trotted down the plank to admiring Portsmen.  
  
When all the hustle and bustle was over, it was our turn to alight. I found that the minute I stepped onto firm ground, my legs began to sway.  
  
"Whoa!" One of the sailors grinned, keeping me from falling, and I stuck my tongue out at him as Malig would have done.  
  
Godric didn't seem to have this trouble and simply strode over to help the sailors arrange and join our cart properly, and sling our sackfuls of belongings into it. One of our two horses was reigned up to the cart, and the other saddled for riding.  
  
"You'll ride," he said to me. "You can with her, my lady," he added to Eisla who blushed and murmured a modest thank you.  
  
"I have my horse already, however," she said. "But thank you anyway."  
  
Godric nodded.  
  
Poetess strode over to me at that point and gestured behind her to a group of simply dressed men and women, some with musical instruments, but most without. "I leave yer now, wench!" She winked. "I hope to hear much o' ye, ye kno'! I can sing a few more songs in yer mem'ry, like." With that, she bowed, winked again, and sauntered of to her welcoming group before they disappeared into the crowds completely.  
  
I wondered if I would ever see her again,  
  
Looking around the town, I saw that it was darker and dingier than that of Pomerania - I realised that this was because it was a fort town and everyone lived in an enclosed space, not running around freely. There were well-amoured guards as well, some walking around, weary and yet with a sort of authority; others playing dice or gossiping.  
  
"Do they fear an attack?" I whispered to Godric.  
  
"Aye," he said. "From the Raidersfolk, only the ones at sea, not land."  
  
I shuddered.  
  
By the time the sun was held up directly above us in the sky, Godric, Eisla, our three horses and I were moving at a leisurely trot out of the small port, down what Godric called a 'Caesar' road, amongst a group of other travelling folk.  
  
A new life had indeed begun.  
  
TBC... 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

I never truly appreciated the depth of grief until one morning, as we travelled North, I awoke t the sound of Eisla singing.

Were it not for the lessons Godric had given me, I would never have been able to understand - once I was awake properly - what she was singing:

_Ah, my little warriors,_

_my little priests_

_my little wives_

_my little Hearthmistresses;_

_The time to awake has come._

This she repeated, sometimes varying the tune, sometimes the words. It reminded me so starkly of my mother and older brothers and sister, the young men I had flirted with, Kelka and the other women who had been my friends... all these came flooding back to me and as the tears coursed down my cheeks, I hid my face.

As she continued, singing about the animals now, I resolved - as people generally do at such times - to make a written record of every song that I had grown up with: the scholars who wrote the books Godric had made me read didn't seem to think that such things were important - they spoke of Kings and Queens and Emperors and Pendragons and Wizards, but I would always find myself wondering about the servants, the apprentices and then the parents and families of such high folk.

Just as I thought I had stopped crying, Godric appeared beside me and smiled gingerly, wiping my face. "Ahatti," he began, "I wish you had spoken to me; I may have understood a little."

Eisla, who had realised something was happening behind her, turned, stopped singing and looked at us. When she saw me, her eyes watered and she nodded slightly, before turning her head and singing again, but this time a mother's lament over a daughter who had died in childbirth. I understood why she sang this - my mother had sung such songs whenever my older sister, Freya, had come to our longhouse for a night when her children were ill, or if she were upset: it was the sort of song women sing when a younger girl experiences difficulty. It encouraged understanding and camaraderie.

So I was grateful, yet surprised, that Eisla knew such a song. Then again, the Raiders were not so different from us in truth, only they craved blood and we did not.

For breakfast, we sat with one of the other camps, huddled around a fire for warmth. I wore my new cloak which Godric had bartered for in Pomerania. There were a great deal many young children, all large eyes and bulging stomachs; they stared a lot at Godric, Eisla and me, and I heard snatched words of priests and princesses.

Eisla was good with them and, having had children of her own, knew how to handle them: she braided their hair with coloured leather tongs and beads, told them stories and gave them honeyed apples. As we travelled onwards, the other women grew less wary of us and let their children crowd around Eisla, getting a well deserved rest for doing so.

Godric managed to settle himself in with the men and when they realised that he was so good a swordsman, they were relieved to have some chance of surviving an attack, should one come. They encouraged him to train them up and he did, but not, I noticed, with quite the same rigour as he had trained me.

There was still quite a lot of forest and dense shrubbery around then and before night fell, the men scouted for a good place for our band of travellers to sleep for the night: no one wanted to risk thieves.

So this pattern of life continued, but to be honest, I enjoyed the time we spent with the band very much.

In truth there were several groups of travellers within our band: there were a few small groups like ours, but many families who were remnants of broken tribes and such. Many of them had the reddish-brown hair and green-blue or grey eyes of the true people of Angleland - Earth's first children, they called themselves (though Godric told me that they had in fact been early invaders before the Caesar fold who had intermarried with the savages they had met).

They stuck together, determined to find some place where they could settle a land for themselves now that they Caesar folk and the the Pale ones had come and left their mark. I learnt their tongue from them, some of their customs and Ways, and at one point, was given a golden neck bangle which Godric called a torque as a gift. In return, I gave them some of my jewellery, some coins (which they could use to buy cattle, I argued) and one young woman - who was to marry soon - my second-best dress.

There were other tribes as well, many of them groups of former slaves. Pale haired, dark eyes folk, descendants of Caesar-Greek and Pale folk. They were a solemn lot, having lived as slaves and prostitutes, but Eisla proved popular with them for she was a good story teller and the people liked her tales of giants and gods more than anything. Also present were ruddy, brown haired and brown eyed tribes - the remnants of the savages who had first inhabited Angleland - who had a natural gift for calling the wild beasts to them. It was strange how all of us roped along with each other: that is what survival is about, I suppose.

Along our way North, the band grew smaller and smaller: the Ruddy folk had decided to mingle with the First children and broke away from our group after the first three weeks when they came to the remains of what must have been a hamlet in the days of Caesar; the stone foundations were still strong and it seemed the perfect place for them to start a new life - the land around was fertile and there were many hares and rabbits and other such meat for the taking.

It was a busy farewell - we had shared our supplies and so some remained with the rest of our band, and the rest with the leaving tribes. We spent so much time deciding what pots and cloths and other resources to leave so it hardly seemed a farewell until the moment came for us to bid good-bye. It seemed a shock that we would be splitting up, so comparatively soon.

Such is life, however, and although we missed them as went along our way, it was not more than we could bear.

Eisla and I had been taken in by a matron with a busy upper lip of the Caesar-Pale folk and with the departure of the First Children and the Ruddy folk, the usually solemn tribe learned how to laugh for themselves. We continued in relatively high spirits until they too, broke away from us who were travelling further North (that was all that Godric would tell me) when we got to a hilly region which smelt of the sea and yet was far inland (I found it interesting how the land seemed to reflect the people who were now going to live on it).

By now, there were just the three of us, and around twelve others, made up of similar, smaller groups to ours.

Two other groups of four made up our vastly reduced travelling band and one lone ranger, a seemingly elderly man who smoked a pipe and slept a lot and drunk with no prohibition. The other groups were young and I had discovered some time ago that they were full of ideas for a new life in larger cities. I didn't know what to make of them, so I did not speak to them much. That was the least enjoyable time of our travels in Alba.

But the old man I liked: he was clever with his hands, despite his inability to prevent himself downing most of our ale and saw things that I would not have been able to see. For instance, on one occasion, as we trotted down the never ending Caesar road, there was a single bush at the roadside which stuck out from amongst the others.

"How many sparrows are there underneath that bush?" He asked me, pointing.

I shrugged: 'Twas easy enough. "No," I said.

He shook his head as well. At that moment, about twenty of the little creatures burst out and fluttered around us before vanishing further into the shrubbery.

Late at night, I asked Godric if the old man was a sorceror as well, but he shook his head and said that he was simply very wise.

Eisla and I became a good deal closer and I began to see her more as an older sister and friend. She and Godric came to respect one another as well: she knew many things from the lands she had travelled through, including the magic and secret Ways of each tribe or people she had come across and he gave her tips on fighting, earning her respect when at one point, he said, "just because a woman doesn't know how to wield a blade, doesn't stop her from dying on them. So take it!" For some reason, it was mainly to me that she spoke of such things, as she would braid or comb my hair. "From woman to woman," she would always say and smile at me.

I learnt from the old man as well. He taught me how to track game and read the skies for weather predictions. In a way, despite all that I learned from Godric and Eisla, he managed to fill in all the gaps. Because his arthiritis often troubled him, I was given an opportunity to use my anatomy lessons to benefit and more than not, my massages and herbal messes relieved him of the pain he had become accustomed to suffering. He was a friendly old man who always seemed to like to talk, and talk he did of many things, including stories about high folk - arguments between philosophers and bishops, Emperors and chiefs - that made it sound as if he had known these people, now long dead, personally.

On board the ship, Godric had got me started once again with a game similar to what I would later learn called chess from one of my future students and now, as we travelled on horseback, it was the old man who honed my skills, setting up pieces in a certain formation and then encouraging me to solve out the winning strategy for myself. I cannot say I always succeeded, and more often than not, I needed the help of Eisla (but never Godric), but I believe it helped me develop my mind, if only to some extent.

Now, with so few of us travelling together, Godric's tongue started to loosen a little and he began to tell me stories of his friends. He told me of the Lady Ravenclaw, the unnamed leader of the four of them, who had travelled from Ephesus to the far northland, first in order to marry an Italian, then (upon her conversion) to join an order in Angleland and then finally, as a powerful sorceror in her own right, to start an order of her own in the mountainous country of the far north.

"She fears virtually nothing," Godric said, "that is her secret. She has seen the worst and best of humankind and thus has nothing unexpected left that might cross her path. When she decided to become one of the Christians, and then upon discovering her powerful sorcery, she enlisted the help of the Abbess whose order she had wished to join, and together with a company of their monks, journeyed far north, to the mountains where their society would be safe. Just outside the Hog's warts---"

"The what?" Eisla spluttered, laughing.

Godric grinned at her. "You'll understand when you see it but I'll tell you anyway: she and her company found an old chieftan's stead that had been abandoned for some reason (the locals talked of the curse of madness that had descended upon him and driven his family out, long ago) and have since started building on it. It is made up of a flattened hill and so the new constructions look much like the warts on a hog's nose. I call it the Hog's warts mainly to annoy the Lady Ravenclaw."

Eisla and I burst out laughing.

"Anyway," he said, flapping a hand in wry humour, "anyway just outside the place of the School there is a large village. When they arrived there, they sought welcome in the village and were given it but they noticed that many of the houses were abandoned and the village itself was very, very poor, despite living near a bountiful forest and a lake, and being protected by mountains. It turned out that many of the villagers were lepers and they had been abandoned by the surrounding villages, for fear of spreading the disease. They had often sent their young, healthy offspring away, so that they could escape the accursed disease, but more often than not, they would return with the disease themselves.

"So the Lady Ravenclaw first set to work helping the people to rebuild their village and their society. She would often say that that is the best sort of magic and I don't disagree with her. She and the monks and the Abbess set to work bandaging the people and trying to cure them: sometimes they worked and sometimes they didn't, but always they stayed with the villagers, even when some of their number fell ill with the disease themselves.

"Eventually, they succeeded in their goal and the village was sound and the people able to start again, even the lepers. The monks taught them how to brew beer and they have been using that as the source of their income ever since. It is the finest mead I have tasted, I can tell you that, light and refreshing and soon even their neighbouring villagers who had once turned them away for fear of the disease and had cut off all links with them, were soon enticed to trade with them for their beer. It is now growing, their village, even though the leprosy has not been completely eradicated, but at least they are richer."

Eisla seemed to enjoy the story. "She sounds like quite a woman, this Lady Ravenclaw: I look forward to meeting her."

Me and Godric looked up at Eisla, surprised: she had never told us that she planned to travel with us all the way. She smiled shyly at us. "I've decided to travel with you both, yes: Gelda needs a sister," and she beamed at me. I smiled back, honoured.

"What about the Slytherine?" I asked eagerly.

"Hm? I was wondering if that stead was really cursed," Eisla said.

Godric rose an eyebrow. "Well, that's the good bit of my story. You see, the forest has been there since the dawn of time and deep within the forest is a swamp, filled with beasts from before man walked the earth and were ever in the minds of the gods. Or so they say. What is known for sure is that there is a secret tribe that live within these woods, who are supposed to have magical powers and whose powers where given to them by the spirits who live in the swamp. A long, long time ago, the chieftan on the plain rode through the forest with a hunting party as was customary but in the heat of the moment, killed one of the fen-people by accident, but did not apologise properly. When the chief of the fen-people consulted the spirits, he asked the chieftan to give a daughter in reparation for his son to marry, as the spirits had advised him. The fool-chieftan refused, however, offering only gold and iron - but iron is no good to the people of the swamp because it rusts too easily and they prefer silver or jewels, gold being a useless metal to them.

"Because of this insult, the swamp people left the forest and fought with the chieftan and his tribe in earnest for a daughter. They kidnapped the eldest and took her back to marry one of their princes, which she did (some say that she had already fallen in love with him and as such had planned to be taken away). But then, against all custom, the chieftan announced that his daughter was supposed to be a gift to his advisor and had already been promised.

"Enraged by his lies, which would mean that the marriage between her and their prince was void and probably cursed, the swamp people once again consulted their spirits who sympathised with them and in a rage left the forests and descended upon the chieftan's clan with a vengeance in mind, leaving the chieftan with a curse of madness, and driving his people out to the mountains. But the swamp spirits are difficult, capricious and fiercely protective and as payment demanded that no outsider should dare travel within the forests and that the swamp people must kill anyone who did so. They had seen what had come out of outsiders being allowed to hunt within their woods and wanted nothing more to do with it.

"Since then, there has been enmity between the mountain and the swamp people. The swamp people must kill or enslave any outsider who comes to them and thus the mountain people are grieved and then angered by the loss of their people. Apparently, the curse of leprosy began when the mountain people kidnapped a swamp maiden in retaliation and forced her to marry their townsleader, ensuring that she could never return to her people as one of their own again. The spirits were so enraged by this that they covered the mountains with thick fog and within this fog was the leprosy." Godric shrugged. "There's probably some truth in it, somewhere, but it makes a good story."

"Yes," Eisla agreed. "And I take it the Slytherine has some to do with it?"

Godric nodded. "Oh yes. The swamp people are the Slytherines and Salazar was one of their princes, before he came of age. You see, he was one of twins and their custom says only one prince from each family can rule and then try out to eventually become a chief. So Salazar opted to travel rather than stay and fight his younger brother and became a sort of emissary for his people and a link to the outside world. That is how he met the Lady Ravenclaw and her company, and how she came to hear of the abandoned chieftan's stead. His people always say that a house built in love can overcome foundations built in hate. I suppose he took it literally when he heard of her plans, and thought it was a good idea."

"Do the swamp people mind?" I asked, enthralled.

Godric shook his head. "Salazar is one of their own, one of their best and the favourite of the swamp spirits. Even if they didn't like it, what would they do? To kill a favourite is suicidal to say the least. No, they don't mind. It has been a long time since the battle with the chieftan's tribe and what is left of them have been absorbed into the blood of the mountain folk. Empty houses clatter with age, new ones are always retouched. I think they prefer any stead to be occupied. They are an interesting people - you would like them Eisla."

"Would I be allowed...?" She began.

"I doubt it, but Salazar will happily tell you all about their customs."

"And their magic," I began, "is it the same as ours?"

Again, Godric shook his head. "It is more like the witchcraft you women can do. It's very mysterious. It is more cunning than magic and it is all based on their spirits. It's funny, they have more spirits than you'd think - I always ask him how big was that forest anyway, to house so many creatures?" He laughed that booming laugh of his. "They are excellent healers though: Salazar helped the Lady Ravenclaw cure some of the lepers in the village."

"Goodness," I breathed, my head spinning with this new story. "And how then did you come to know him?"

A stupid smile came over my brother's face, the look that most men get when they begin to talk of some supposedly hilarious bit of mischief they had once performed.

"Do you remember that time that I spent several years away with my two thralls?" He asked me. I nodded. I had been very little and Godric had come of age only the last summer or so. He had set off in the spring. "Well, I came here, to Angleland, and Salazar - with a monk, Brother Clement I recall, and two of his own warriors - had agreed to escort me to the Hog's warts. We met in Londinium, actually, my boat having sailed up the river there. I wasn't sure what to make of them: I had only ever heard of Christians and the fen people were completely unknown to me, but we became good friends. Salazar was only a little older than me, but already seemed so mature. He led his warriors expertly and behaved like a grown man - I suppose one has to after leaving one's people and wandering.

"We had an interesting journey northwards: I swear the monk spent half his time in prayer out of worry for us and the other half doubled up with mirth. I was as green as a sapling and would have got myself killed if not for those two. I made quite a name for myself, though, because I was a good fighter, but hopeless (even worse than you are, Ahatti) with languages: the people who I did not offend, I simply confused."

I grinned: it was nice to know that my brother could not do everything right.

"We arrived at the School, eventually, and there I met the Lady Ravenclaw, again, older then myself and Salazar by four or so years, and Lady Helga."

"Who is she?" I asked, eager for another story.

Godric's face bore no expression this time. "She is...a woman from the plains to the north of where we once lived, Ahatti. A powerful witch in her own right who came to the Lady Ravenclaw and the Abbess one night and requested that she join them in their quest. In truth, we know practically nothing about her and Salazar is more than a little suspicious of her in all honesty. He doesn't like the way she flatters the monks. Brother Clement thought the same, actually, but because of his vows, he does not speak such thoughts aloud, merely hints at them." He shrugged. "I don't mind her. She keeps herself to herself, though she is known to be particularly caring for those of our students who have no sorcery to speak of..." he looked as though he was about to say something else but then stopped and smiled at me.

"But you like the Lady Ravenclaw?" I asked.

He shrugged, but this time there was a good-natured smile on his face. "She is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, you know, but only when she smiles (and that she rarely does). One of the reasons I like her is for her lack of vanity - I have seen her mix up some of the most revolting cauldrons of herbal messes for her poor lepers without making a fuss, and to see her on ordinary days is to think her a farmer's wife, with the slops down her gown, and the rough, leather apron and the woollen cap on her head. Salazar always teases her and makes long soliloquies on how she is the embodiment of the perfect wife: pragmatic, cool, wise and loyal," Godric laughed. Even Eisla smiled warmly to herself. "But she'll have none of that: she wanted to be a nun, and so that is still how she holds herself, as a member of a new order of her own."

"Women like her are worth emulating, Gelda," Eisla said gently, looking at her sewing. I could tell that Godric did not quite hear what she said, for he looked at her quizzically but she would say no more.

There was pause in which we stoked the fire a bit more - now in our smaller group, everyone cooked for themselves on their own fires - and Godric started again to teach me how to use the stick that he called a wand.

It was very pleasant learning all these new things from my brother. He told us stories that the monks had told him, that were usually either very amusing and rather disrespectful - like the one about the old monk who knew that his time had come and so went down to the cellars and drank most of the beer and wine and was found dead, but with a smile on his face by his younger Brothers before Mass - or very strange and awe inspiring - prophets being swallowed by huge fish and holy teachers surviving snakebites. Then there were stories from the mountain people, about Grey men who lived in the hills, covered in fur and twice as tall as normal men, and then tales from the fens of tree spirits growing to love the hunters who passed beneath their boughs and strange creatures who could never be killed by a mortal weapon who lived within the swamp itself. It filled me with wonder and awe for the world around me.

We continued to travel through the land of Alba with our gradually diminishing company.

My sorcery improved at a frightening rate - I was as good at Godric at some things, if not better - and Godric was always proud of me. When we had only a few more books to finish, he showed me a book of his own that he was writing.

"Sorcery these days is still a mix of superstition and witchcraft and true sorcery," he explained. "I am writing this book to start organising what actually works and what doesn't, and maybe structure sorcery for our descendants. All four of us are writing our own missals: Salazar is writing one on our history, tales and facts from peoples across the known world, to find out where this our power came from. The Lady Ravenclaw a missal on healing spells and herbs for the mundane folk and Lady Helga a missal on astrology and the sorceries of divining the truth of the future, as well as present times." He showed me the pages of parchment, covered with diagrams. On a few scraps of stone and the odd wax tablet, he had written his plans for the book and what it should contain. He looked as proud as I felt.

"Can I help you with it?" I asked.

"You can write one yourself," he replied. "We're planning that every student we get who completes his training must write a missal such as this. It will be their gift to our community of sorcerors, for our descendants and to make our ancestors proud. Even some of the monks are writing theirs, but about more general things: practically none of them are sorcerors after all."

"Are any?"

Godric thought for a moment. "Brother Clement is as is Brother Madoc and Brother Leofwin. I forget what they are writing their missals about, though one is about the magical and mundane creatures and their origination."

The rest of that day, I remember, my head was filled with ideas for my own missal.

I think it was the next day that we arrived at a small town, much like Pomerania, and rested for several days, longer than we had anticipated. This was partly my own fault, for I had taken ill after spending a night at the tavern. Eisla never left my side and nursed me back to health, whilst Godric made strange concoctions that he forced me to drink. I was delirious for a day or two, and on the night before travelling, I grew better and could stand on my own two feet.

The last of the other groups had bid farewell to us, deciding to stay in the town for the time being. I did not know, at that time, what the plans of the old man were. Occasionally, I saw him wandering the town streets, talking to various men who I presumed to be money changers.

When we eventually left, though, he did not join us immediately, and we set off without him, assuming that he too had decided to seek what fortune he could in the small town. Godric was in high spirits, and Eisla told me that the weather was promising: we had experienced spring rains earlier in our journey and I had no intention of being caught under another one again!

We were some distance from the town when I looked behind us, and saw another group of riders. At first I paid them no heed but then I realised that they were slowly gaining on us: slowly, so as not to arouse our suspicions. Bandits? I wondered.

But a strange sort of terror clutched at my heart, the same I had experienced in those woods back home all those years ago. Although I knew they were after us, I checked more than once just to be sure. When I did so, I saw, much to my surprise, the old man riding hard with them, a look of concentration on his face.

"Godric," I said carefully, swallowing. "Godric, we're being followed."

He swiftly turned his head and squinted, a thumb on the hilt of his sword. He swore brutally and nodded. I saw Eisla pale, but she continued looking straight ahead.

"What shall we do?" She asked quietly.

"Run."

Immediately, he cut the rein attaching his horse to the spare and we set off at a gallop. The poor, wise creature followed us as well, eventually overtaking us.

The speed was incredible, but I knew that to escape this encounter would be a close thing. We continued spurring our horses to go faster and faster, and faster they went. It wasn't until our aggressors started shooting arrows that only just missed us, did I realised how much trouble we were in.

"Follow the spare!" Godric cried. "I'll hold them off!"

"No!" Eisla screamed and that was when I realised how attached they had become. "Not on your own--!"

"Quiet and keep on going! I'll catch up with you! Go now!"

Our horses were galloping too fast for us to stop with any ease and it took Godric a while before he himself could turn his horse to face our foe. Eisla and I continued to gallop forward, tears blinding our eyes and flying behind us. Eventually, we lost control of the horses and let them take us over the dales, away from the Caesar road. When they slowed down, with no further urging from us, we turned and tried to see what was going on. We could hear shouts and cries; the clanging of steel blades and the whinnying of horses. It sounded like the storm of battle, for all that barely a dozen warriors were involved. And my Godric, my beautiful, clever brother Godric was in the middle of it.

"Unsheathe your sword, Gelda," Eisla said sternly, and I obeyed her. I saw her readying a sling. "Tie it so you can get it immediately for battle. Your sling is what you will need. Get some stones," she watched me coolly as I frantically did as she commanded. "Now I shall be the Raiderwoman you expect me to be, eh, Gelda?" She said, with only a trace of bitterness in her voice.

"Eisla--"

"Come on. If we go at a gallop, they won't be able to defend themselves against us _and _your brother with any measure of ease. Yah!" With that, she kicked her horse into action.

Faster and faster, faster than before we went, slings ready and slingshots within reach; my sword glinted in the light and I felt the thrill of battle rush through my veins. Fear was burned away. I was war itself.

When we were just outside throwing distance, Eisla let out a chilling battle-scream. As we approached, I saw Godric slice a man's neck open in the brief moment when the mercenaries paused in worry and fear. This was not what they were expecting. Eisla swung her sling and shot, the pebble making an eerie whistling sound as it flew threw the air, killing a man instantly. I did the same, aiming for a man's neck and succeeded in damaging his windpipe, knocking him off his horse. He lay on the floor, twitching.

Another slingshot from Eisla. landed behind another man's ear, so powerful was her throw that it dented and stayed in the man's helmet, punching metal into his brain.

She continued using her sling. I think I used it once more but the instant I was close enough, I took out my Gryphon and hacked wildly. Two more mercenaries fell to me, shocked to see a young girl in a dress attacking them so viciously. But my inexperience showed through and led to me suffering a grievous flesh wound to my left arm.

At last, the skirmish was over and the three of us sat on our horses, triumphant.

"That bastard!" I shouted, seeing the dead body of the old man. "That bastard betrayed us!" Tears mingled with blood down my face. I had known much grief already, but this, to think that a man who had taught me chess and told me stories was our traitor... this was almost too much.

I looked to Godric, who had not responded, and then I saw the gaping belly wound. With a sigh, he fell off his horse and cracked his skull on the roadside.

Eisla screamed something in her tongue that I did not recognise and we both leapt off hour steeds and saw to Godric, but I could tell that we were too late: as we sat by him, trying to attend to his wounds, I could see that his eyes were unfocused and his pupils barely changed when I put my face in his range of vision. His breathing became desperate and harsh, the breaths shallow.

"Oh... please..." I cried, even though I knew it would be to no avail. "Please... Godric, no..."

"Sssh..." he murmured. His fingers curled around mine, and then he died.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

We buried Godric in an unmarked grave and that was what made me weep the most. Later, I would scour the land for the possible place where we had laid him to rest, but I would never find it. Even with what would happen later in my life, that was by far the worst. Nothing could compare.

For the most part I simply could not understand how such a thing could have happened - my Godric, my clever, handsome sorceror brother had been killed by hungry Raidersmen.

"We must continue with our journey to the Pictlands," said Eisla firmly. I stared up at her through the smoke of the fire that night and she looked back at me equally determined as I was unsure. "My daughter, you know it to be so as I do, so please do not look at me like that. We must carry on. Have you seen the way oarsmen row at their boats? They move as one to a single beat, heaving and letting go at just the right moment. Thus it must be with us. We must pull together and deal with that time throws at us as it comes, letting go when the time is right. But for now it is not, and so we must keep on going."

What could I say? My arm properly cleaned and bandaged, onwards we went.

The School that Godric had so charmingly nicknamed the Hog's warts was still far to the north, in the mountainous heart of what used to be known as Pictland. I did not know how we would manage: it was a dangerous time for two women to be travelling together with no escort or bodyguard. It worried Eisla too, until one night, some days after Godric's death, she had the brilliant idea of one of us dressing up as a man.

As it was, it was getting colder and colder and so it made sense for us to wear the more sensible men's clothes that had once been Godric's. One day, I had risen early and started practising my sword skills, now with both Gryphon and Godric's old sword in each hand. I had become very good, and having witnessed some of the attack as performed by the Raiders, I had thought it a good idea to be able to fight as well with my left as with my right. So there I stood, away from our camp, parrying and swiping and lunging and ducking alternately as if I were facing several foes.

It was a while before I realised that Eisla was watching me, but when I noticed, I turned around and let my arms drop.

She was smiling grimly. "You're very much like your brother, particularly from behind. You're a bit shorter, but he was quite a large man anyway." She dusted off her hands. "You have given me a good idea."

And so from that day, we each took it in turn for a few days or even hours depending on the situation (sometimes we approached a village and that was when I had to play Gelda, a young maiden lost in a new village, clearly trustworthy) to dress up as a man and thus escape any undue attentions. For the most part it worked but that did not mean we were free from thieves and bandits. But they were soon corrected in their assumption that they could possibly defeat us with both of us on the attack.

I felt a new sense of discipline grow within me. I trained myself not just in fighting, but also with the books that we had travelled with all the way from our village. It wasn't long before I had finished all of them and, having done so, went through each book again, poring over every detail to see if there was anything else I could glean that would help my sorcery. It was difficult, sometimes all this reminded me too strongly of Godric which at times would be a good thing as I would be stirred on by his memory, but mostly I would find myself depressed and unable to continue. It was at moments like these that I found Eisla to be good company as she helped me plough through the work I set myself, despite being no sorceror herself.

A change had come over me. As we travelled, I thought of Godric less and less in that cloying way that I once had and I began to feel as if he were there inside me as well as that part of my essence. We still ate together and in my dreams we still argued and talked and fought against the shadowy demons that had since crept upon my mind. When I fought, I swore that I could feel him crying out some strange battle cry and when we were at rest, I could feel him stroking my hair.

When I told Eisla of this, she nodded wisely and said that much the same had happened to her when her husband had died: she found herself becoming more like him in many ways. She had begun standing like him and using his turns of phrase and picking up some of his habits. "That is how the dead live on, daughter," she said soothingly. "I know not of Heaven or Eden, Valhalla or the Elysian fields for all they may tickle my fancy, but I do know that our dead beloved live on through us, their living loves. Even if they will be eventually forgotten by our descendants, they will still live on in them. But they won't ever really be forgotten. They will always, ever, be just waiting to be rediscovered and rehonoured and loved once again."

Our entering of Pictland was oddly uneventful. I had been told, in the old days when I still sat by my mother and listened to her by the hearth, that the Caesar folk had once built a huge wall to keep the Picts out, but as we crossed into the new land of the woad dyed folk, I saw no such wall. Only later, when I spoke to Eisla, did I learnt hat we had in fact walked round it: the wall did not go from shore to shore as I had once thought. We really don't want the soldier's attention now, she had said.

All I knew of Hogwarts was that it was cocooned in a very mountainous part of Pictland, with a small Pictish village a small way from it. There was a pass, if one knew where to find it, Godric had told me. It was a good several days journey, but it led you directly on the outskirts of the forest and then the school itself which was built half on the small, enclosed plain and half on the mountains. As much as I looked forward to seeing it, I was also apprehensive. I had no idea what I would make of the powerful and frightening sorcerors that my brother had claimed as his friends.

"Well, we shall find out more when we come to it," Eisla had said firmly when I related my fears to her.

Throughout our journeying, we had heard nothing from any of his sorceror friends, but I remembered what Godric had told me before, that that was to be expected - the enemy sorcerors who had killed Lady Ravenclaw's messenger would be on the lookout for any magical or mundane message being sent via us and the trio who kept the School.

One of the first things that I noticed as we trekked through Pictland was that there were no large, straight roads left, a blessing that I had taken for granted bestowed upon us by the long gone Caesar folk. We made do with worn tracks, some in better condition than others, particularly the ones that led into larger villages or trading posts. For all the apparent lack of civilisation, the Pictish villages made sure that as many travellers left their village as possible together, and the larger hamlets also sent a small envoy of warriors to bear us on their way. When I wondered about the purpose for this with Eisla, she reminded me that unlike in Angleland, there were no threats of marauding invaders because the Picts _were _the marauding invaders. If a village had a good reputation for protecting it's guests (and by their customs such was an important reputation to be had) then more would come and trade would abound. As I had finished learning from the books and could only go over what I already knew - and this was becoming increasingly dull: even making my own spells did not seem as much fun anymore - I used the opportunity to learn the ways of the villagers that we came across: how to fish in the poor streams, how to make camp, to kindle a fire when trapped in the middle of moorland as we often were. I learnt their local witchcraft (as Gelda of course: I have noticed that what women know, we keep to ourselves. It's the men's knowledge that is shared knowledge and women's that is secret) and their language, their stories and histories. Eisla had always been interested in such things anyway, and had a knack with people and getting them to share their ways. They were flattered that two apparently well born noble women would have an interest in their local traditions.

For all that the Picts were a fierce people, I thought to myself, I rather liked the way they did things. They had wonderful horses that, much like their human counterparts, didn't seem up to much but when you got on one, you realised that they were fast if needs be but, even better, hardwearing and tough. They made travelling much easier and even when we left them to rest and graze for a bit, we knew that a few days travel would easily make up for any distance lost.

We headed west after two weeks journeying as directly north as we could by foot or by cart. There were many mountainous regions in Pictland and we headed for the parts with the most forest, following the small rivers that would lead to empty out in the lake that Godric said the castle stood by.

I felt it was safer to ask the people who lived in the tiny pockets of civilisation that we came across, but Eisla fiercely disagreed. "If we ask anyone, it'll be our fellow travellers. And remember, we tell them nothing of where we came from and even avoid telling them that it is this 'Hog's warts' to which we are going. We have already lost your brother - to lose you would be horrible. I would never forgive myself."

So thus we went on. We stayed for a night or two at each village we would happen across and have our horses rested and our stores replenished and when we joined what band of travellers there may have been, we would talk awhile about a mythical castle, a small village that stood in guard and a massive forest filled with beasts. For all our cleverness, no one had heard of such a place, but enjoyed our stories nonetheless. We made quite a reputation for ourselves.

Our fortune turned for the better when we started heading north east again, our journey having taken us in an odd sort of half cross stitch across Pictland, though at first we were not to realise it.

There was a large group that we joined, as we left Strathblade, a relatively large village that had some very talented blacksmith's (one insisted on having a bash at both my swords to give them a better finish: "Mos' warrers don' realise that jus' a'cause a sword's las'ed fer a bi' an' 'as 'acked aynuff o' yer enemies for ye, don' mean tha' tis invincible, ye ken?") almost as large as the group of broken tribes that we had first joined when we arrived in Angleland. Most of the group were travellers, some mercenaries for hire, others low-grade merchants and some just a load of medicine men and quacks, but one set - around a dozen of them - were not so easy to identify. They were difficult to get to know - they did not speak much to the rest of us and were generally either very shy or very rude - but they did pull in: they helped set up camp and make fires and such of the like.

There were more boys among them than girls - I counted four girls - but they were all quite young except for two: one was more of a man than boy, with hair already growing at this chin, the other looked about thirteen years of age. They and three of the girls (the fourth girl was very little - perhaps six or seven) acted as if they were the parents, the leaders. They kept the other children close to them and ordered them about when necessary and spent early mornings and late evenings whispering urgently to one another.

I was disguised as a man for that time and spent most of our days exchanging fighting tips with the other men, much as I had done on the ship we had once travelled in. By this time, I felt so much more comfortable as a man than as a woman that even Eisla found it difficult to tell when she was not paying attention or in deep thought. At times, I would look at my reflection in pools or in the finely polished surface of my two blades and startle at the young man I saw there and the seriousness of his expression before truly apprehending that it was me. I managed to keep up my facade easily, though I was worried by the thirteen year old boy of the strange group who kept on watching me carefully. The older, nearly bearded one was easier to deal with, as with most men I have found. He was the least guarded of all of them and made jokes with me freely, though when he was asked where he and the girls were travelling to, he refused to answer properly, giving instead the practised foolish smile of someone who wants to change the subject without seeming too rude.

The girls were even more difficult to know - even Eisla found them trying. Two of them were nobly born from Italy - they had fled with their youngest sister and brother (one of the younger boys in the group) when their father had been charged with fraud and his creditors seized his house and property, including his wife, their mother. They too would have been sold into slavery if not for the oldest's quick thinking. "Oh yes," Eisla had said, with a sarcastic half smile, "she may be a snob, but she is very clever that girl. Not a romantic at all - I wish I had daughters like her."

I could tell she was different as well: she had no qualms speaking to me - disguised as a man - alone, and not in a flirtatious way, but in the cool, controlled manner of a well born woman used to receiving less nobly born guests.

"You're ... Lady Eisla's manservant, aren't you?" She asked me coolly.

"No, companion," I said cheerfully. "We're equals, although I think you can just call her Eisla."

The girl raised her eyebrows. "She behaves like a Lady, and so thus I title her. I could easily call you Lord -" she smirked, in an odd, but not wholly unkind way.

"No thank you."

She too, would not tell me of where she and the others were headed though instead of getting angry like the other boy, or dozy like the older one, she brushed my questions aside nonchalantly with a sardonic twist to her words. "If your Lady Eisla and yourself would care to join us, then you would find out."

The rest of us got used to their eccentricity; they did their chores and duties after all and so long as you kept your distance, they began to be quite pleasant to get along with.

Nothing much happened as we continued to journey through Pictland. As the land became more hilly and mountainous, so we met fewer tribesmen or villages and because of this and the fact that there no roads, we encountered less and less in the way of bandits.

Because I was spending more and more time dressed as a man, in the very early mornings, I would dress myself in my old clothes, my newer dresses that Godric had bought for me and it was then, oddly enough, that I felt more of Godric within me than ever before. Men's clothes were certainly liberating for my body, but these dresses seemed to have some extra liberating effect on my very soul. It was silly, but I loved the way the skirts flowed and made my shoulders and feet look smaller. I would quickly change into men's gear though, often when in the middle of a walk, for fear of getting caught.

One morning after I had changed back into my breeches, I made my way back to our camp and nearly tripped over a hunched figure. After apologising and getting the person upright, I realised that it was the younger boy, the one who was always quick to anger. On the floor where he had been sitting was a large book, much like those that Godric had once trained me from.

"What were you doing...?" I asked, flustered.

"Stanislaus," he said.

"Hm?"

"My name is Stanislaus."

"Oh." I raised my eyebrows.

"And I know who you are... you and that so-called Eisla," he smirked, looking very pleased with himself.

"Oh yes?" I felt myself begin to panic slightly, but not unbearably. I thought rationally to myself - if he had simply claimed to know who I was then that would have been worrying as it could have meant that he knew that I was actually a woman. But the fact that he felt so smug knowing about Eisla, that told me he had made some sort of mistake, unless Eisla had been telling me falsehoods about herself. But even so, it would be worth hearing what this young pup had to say.

He took in a deep breath. "You are Godric." Then he looked up at me. "And Eisla is actually your sister, Gelda. It's alright, I won't tell anyone - not even Lady Helga herself, but there you see, I know who you are... you were very clever... you hadn't told anyone who you were or anything but none of the men suspect you at all, but then they are all sweaty block heads...-"

"Who could probably kill you with a single blow before you could even start up a spell," I replied, more sharply than I'd intended. He was young, I gave him that, but that didn't mean he wasn't rude and incorrigible. "You could learn a lot from them, from people like those block heads." I sighed at the look he gave me: he was the sort who would not learn after a sharp word, but after several hundred beatings and nights without supper. I had once had a little brother of my own like that...

"No matter," I started. "Well, if you know who me and Eisla actually are, then no doubt you know the place to which we are bound, which would also imply that you and at least a few others of the group you are travelling with..."

"... are sorcerors," he finished proudly. I shook my head - I did not know how many people in Angleland truly believed in such things, rather than the petty witchcraft which everyone knew worked, yet I doubted the wisdom of taking so little pains to conceal such an identity. Having seen what sorcerors were capable of, I even doubted whether such a heritage was anything to be proud of.

"And what book is this?" I asked, stretching out my hand. It looked familiar but then, all the books that Godric had taught me from looked alike. Stanislaus handed it to me and I flicked through it, recognising it immediately as a much poorer version of one of the first books Godric had read through with me. One of the things that immediately struck me was the terrible quality of the diagrams, for instance, and the fact that some of the spells written down were just plain wrong. Some had a word or two missing or misspelt or put in the wrong place. Something in me sickened as I began to place all that I knew of this world, my old one and this new one filled with sorcerors and warriors, in order. It was no wonder that Godric and his friends felt it was so important to set up this school: if other less scrupulous sorcerors sold such books with magic that wouldn't work or worked wrongly, then everything had to be done that was possible to ensure that other sorcerors did not fall prey to their schemes.

And no wonder others - like those who had written the terrible copies such as the one in Stanislaus' hands - wanted Godric and his fellows out of their way. And they had, to some extent, succeeded. Godric was dead, Lady Ravenclaw's messenger was dead and others like Kale, Salazar's nephew, having to journey in secret and fear. Who knew how many others had suffered?

I tucked Stanislaus' version under an arm and made my way back to camp, leaving the boy to puff his way after me. "Sir?" He breathed, "what is wrong...? I really... I need that book to study... is it... what is wrong with it...?"

He followed me all the way to the tent I had set up with Eisla and I admired his courage. He stopped nervously outside as I began to search through the books we carried for the real copy. Eisla had just finished dressing and was about to ask me what I was doing before she heard Stanislaus outside. Then she rolled her eyes and went back to pinning her hair.

"This is what that book of yours should look like," I said sternly to the boy and I handed him my own copy. "Did any of those spells you tried work at all?"

"Some did," he whispered half in misery and half in awe. "But even they never turned out the way they were supposed to."

"I thought as much," I said grimly.

When I looked at young Stanislaus, I instantly forgave him for his rudeness and arrogant attitudes, seeing the look of admiration and wonder that overcame his face as he turned each page delicately and carefully, even beginning to murmur aloud some of the spells. He looked up at me, "Sir?"

"Of course you can," I said. "With each page you learn, I want you and two other sorcerors to meet me, right here. Every night, I want you and two other sorcerors, all different. Each night, and each different, remember. Then during the day I want you and your bearded friend --"

"Philip," Stanislaus blurted out.

"--training with me and the other men. These are dangerous times, boy - I and my sister have alone fought warriors you'd think only existed in legends - and you'll need to learn how men fight even if you are not to fight yourself." I nearly screamed aloud to hear myself speak - I had always been told that Godric and I had the same sort of courage and we both got our looks from our mother, but to hear myself assume his position so easily... it was mind turning. My mind went back to the unmarked grave and some bitch within me pointed accusingly, as if I were dishonouring him by thus impersonating him. Then I steadied myself and thought clearly. It was as Eisla had said. We had to deal with what time threw at us in it's course and this is what it had thrown at me. I thought to myself, once we get to this Hog's warts, then I can reveal myself and if I did not deceive this ambitious sapling, then we would never make it to the Hog's warts.

So Stanislaus turned away and went back to his reading. When the rest of the camp woke up and we began to make our way to the next village in sight, Stanislaus was one of the few in the thick of things, always trying to catch my eye, at times taking up sacks and beams too heavy for him to carry. "Well, at least he's trying," one of the mercenaries, a golden skinned native of Ezzalle named Jol, murmured to me. I shook my head in reply.

We made our way through the moorland, seeing pockets of forest to our left and right where some of the men hunted and scouted.

When we rested for the afternoon, I was approached by the Italian maiden. "Oh, Godric," she said quietly, "are you sure I shouldn't call you Lord as well? To call you by your name now that I know it seems so presumptuous..."

I couldn't help snorting. Ah, I thought to myself, relieved, so I was not completely like Godric, he would have managed to keep a straight face or thrown back his head in mirth. "Godric is fine."

She nodded. "Well... so you are bound for the School as well?"

"The Hog's warts?" I said. She looked at me blankly. I laughed again. "I call it that because it looks like an eyesore on a Hog's face - don't you know that it's the old remains of a chieftan's stead now being built up and proper thanks to Lady Ravenclaw's gold?"

She blushed. For the first time she looked awkward. "I'd imagined it... well... like one of the old villas we have in Italy... or one of the old temples, or the new churches..." Then she laughed lightly. "That seems so silly now, doesn't it. The way some of the priests and merchants spoke of it back home... they made it sound like Heaven..." She swallowed.

"Heaven?" I asked, having heard of the place from Eisla's lips before but never from anyone else.

"Yes... the place of rest for the saints," she nodded. "I'd always wanted Heaven to be a place where all knowledge overwhelms you and you become part of it and it becomes part of you, just like a drop of water in the ocean." For the first time, I saw a more human look in this cold and cynical young woman's eye, a look of wistfulness, hope and a sort of joy. She saw me watch her face and turned away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, why am I reliving childish ideas onto you? Forgive me."

I shook my head. At least I knew she had a heart.

"So you know of Lady Ravenclaw?" She said, voice back to it's cool, measured tones. "I know that is not really her title. She gave it up, her real title, when she was quite young - she had intentions to join an order, one set up by a Saxon princess in Alba itself. But then she found that others shared her powers, that there were other sorcerors, but these sorcerors had betrayed their knowledge and power. Instead of acknowledging it as a gift from the True Father, they used it for their own pleasures, to make dishonest coin, much like my father did, except he had no such powers, or to make slaves out of the poor. So she set up an order of her own, with the help of her confessor and the Abbess of the order she had wanted to join and other sorcerors like you and Lady Helga, to protect and teach younger sorcerors and those of the mundane ways." She sighed. "Such a noble tale: is it all true?"

"Aye, largely," I replied, patting my horse. "Though you've missed out Salazar."

"The Slytherine?" She asked. "Oh forgive me, I forget that he is your dearest friend." Then she smiled. "For that I have to say I admire you: he is said to be the one who helped Lady Ravenclaw find her way through the Pictlands, for he is one of those tribesmen who live in the swamp behind the hills. But he's a mysterious character to be sure, no one seems to know anything about him... except you."

And that was when my heart froze.

In legends, monsters and heroes are forever being risen from the dead, as if there were no rest for them intended in the grave. Godric had told me of no such spell, and I wondered if it was possible to raise someone, using sorcery, from the dead. At that moment, I dearly hoped that there was. For that was when I realised my folly.

The Slytherine was Godric's best friend, a blood brother. He would know, yes, he would know that I was not Godric. Kale, his nephew, had seen me and spoken to me: he would know that Eisla was not Gelda. I felt secure enough with the other two, the magnificent Christian Ravenclaw and the mysterious Lady Helga who even my brother had spoken of only in passing, the maiden of Raider and Saxon parentage. I may well be able to fool them, but the Slytherine? That was another matter in itself.

I sat with Stanislaus, my new right hand man it seemed and the two young ones he had chosen. He had not chosen Fabia-Miriam, the Italian maiden, or her sister, or even Philip, but two of the very young ones who gazed at me with what I knew to be a fierce loyalty but also awe already shining in their faces.

"I am not here to teach you sorcery - if you really want to learn it, you can wait until we reach The School or steal a book of mine if you dare - though my sister's as good with a blade as I and she won't tolerate sneak thieving - but," I had to put a certain tone in my voice as I saw disappointment in their faces, "no listen to me, but I am going to tell you what to do. You see those warriors we are travelling with? And the old medicine men? The merchants? Well, I want both of you to apprentice yourselves to any of them, particularly the old ones - they may not teach you wisdom, but they will patience and what the world is like. Listen to everything they say, even what you find to be wrong - because then you will learn how or why they are wrong. I want you to stop travelling as if you were some little tribe, in a pack as you do. You may as well learn what you can when you can. Believe me, when we get to the School, this will seem like a pleasure garden compared to what you'll get there." I sighed, "you are no longer children, I am afraid, and you are no longer only for yourselves, but for all of us, each of us sorcerors who have sworn loyalty to the School. Do you understand?"

They said that they did.

When they had left, I spoke to Stanislaus. "Now then, each night, when the others leave as they have done tonight, I want you to stay awhile so that we can go over what you have learned. All knowledge is good, but if you do not know how to implement it, it is not the good that one might want." We went over the chapters he had already studied and I put him through the paces as Godric had done with me. Eventually, I sent him away and then I went into the tent I shared with Eisla and sat down on the furs and blankets for a while, unable even to cry.

So I thought instead.

Although he had not always needed it, Godric had carried a short stick that he said was a sort of channel for his power. I held it in my hands and turned it around in my hands, touching it's surface. I knew there were spells to aid memory or to erase it, and the more difficult ones that I had only just managed to master that helped one see through memories and change them, and I had these in mind as I twisted the stick in my hands this way and that.

For all that I had been able to take up the appearance of a man, I was still a woman through and through and so I thought of what the women had taught me in the villages that I had passed through, the secret knowledge and the witchcraft, which is what I was truly comfortable with (and not the cold, scholarly sorcery that had my brother so enthralled).

Eisla saw me when she had returned from the clearing up and immediately understood what it was that I wanted.

We set out quite far from where the camp was. I had no idea if this would work and if it did I had no idea what would happen.

"I have to know Eisla," I said half to myself and half to her as we made our way. "I have to know so much... I have to know how he knew Slytherine... he told me pieces... and Lady Helga and Lady Ravenclaw... damn it... I have to know..."

"Hush daughter," she occasionally said softly. "I know."

We made a large circle out of blessed rope so that any magic that did happen would happen only there. Eisla combed out my hair and fiddled with the dress that I was wearing, pinning Godric's brooch above my heart. I knelt in the circle, holding the wand in my hands and staring at it, demanding knowledge of it's old master, my brother. "We share the same blood, he and I," I whispered, and with the dagger that Magil had given me aboard the ship, I cut my finger and let the blood drip and pool onto the moorland. When there was enough, I stopped squeezing the fingertip and pointed the tip of the wand to it. "You were once held by him," I muttered. "Come on... work! You once channelled his power and his memories... channel it through to my blood then." And I felt the urge _force_ it's way into the pool of blood. My head felt heavy and it began to spin and I felt my neck give way and my back twist. The sorcery scorched my hand and I saw spots at the periphery of my vision. I nearly blacked out but then Eisla called my name and I gradually came to myself, gibbering and drooling like an old madwoman.

Outside of the circle, Eisla had been boiling water and brewing sweet tasting herbs and having seen me fall back and then called my name, she demanded roughly, "girl, bring me your blood. As much of it as you can."

Exhausted, numb and feeling the fire in my hands, I scrabbled, not really seeing, at the grass and dust that was saturated with my blood, careful not to miss a drop. I handed the mounds of dust and grass to her and she tossed them into the small pot, muttering all the while, her slow stirs a juxtaposition to the harsh words of what I assumed to be an incantation. I knelt forward, bringing my forehead to the ground, tears flowing through the pain down my cheeks. I wept, not so much for me, but for the feeling of what I knew was for what I had lost.

"Here, daughter," Eisla murmured, walking round to kneel by my side and gently lifting me so that I could rest my head against her shoulder. She gently tipped the concoction, which tasted strange and neither wholly unpleasant but certainly not nice, down my throat. I nearly gagged, but she firmly closed my mouth so that the spray was nothing but a dribble.

When we finished, we lay there and eventually I closed my eyes and went to sleep.

Over time, when I had spoken to all of the children, I found that they were making me proud. Instead of sticking together and startling like rabbits, it was they who would clamber up hills and hide in hollows acting as scouts or helping with the hunting and search for water. One of the boys learnt how to dowse for water, and another to skin and gut a hare in a few moments flat. The very old medicine men accepted help from the older girls - mainly thanks to Eisla - and every now and again I would find them arguing with the boys as to which were the right veins to bloodlet from without risking the patient's life, for example.

Stanislaus, though, was the one who seemed the busiest for all that he had apprenticed himself to no one. He hung around me like a drone to the nest, occasionally borrowing a book or trying to learn how to fight with a sword. At one point, Jol took him up and taught him the axe saying that it suited the boy better than the sword, but that didn't stop Stanislaus from tailing me.

With Godric's memories neatly tucked inside of me, I had expected to suddenly... become him, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, what changed was that I was no longer apprehensive as to where we were going, because I knew, to a frightening accuracy, where the School was. In fact, I even began to think it best that we follow the route of our band of travellers and dally a little, as I was enjoying our time in Pictland.

Since we arrived in Angleland, we had spent seven months on the road. Most of the time had been been spent in Pictland.

The children also seemed to know where they would be going. Philip and Fabia-Miriam would disguise themselves as a young married couple whenever we entered a hamlet and get non-perishable supplies. The closer we got to the School, the larger the objects they bought, which was sensible enough, although Godric's memories warned me that although we would be safe once and for all from raiders should we go into the forest, it was likely that the enemy had some warriors stationed to block off any like us who were trying to make it inside the School.

After nine days, the time came when we had to split from the main group. Up until then, we had never made our intentions entirely clear and when all us adults gathered round the camp fire, many of them were surprised, especially the ones who had become attached to their 'apprentices'. The mercenaries in turn surprised me: they expressed doubts for the group splitting up as we proposed. Pictland, they all joked, went on for ever - they could always double back once the children, myself and Eisla were safe within the School of which we spoke. Some of the mercenaries wondered if the Lady Ravenclaw they had heard of would hire them as guards of some sort.

As it was, we all took the way to the School. The bond between the men and I grew stronger - I was gratified by their decision to accompany us and honoured by their presence. The men were well trained and good fighters, the majority of them with good self-disicpline, though maybe that had something to do with travelling in the company of women with high expectations such as Eisla and Fabia-Miriam. I was also touched by the concern that they showed for the children - they had obviously grown fond of having the little ones under their feet all the time, always trying to find something to do to help.

Eventually, we had made our way to the pass that took us through the mountains. That was when Eisla and I really began to appreciate the presence of the warriors who allowed each little one to ride on their horses.

We had avoided mountain country as much as we could up until then, for fear of bandits, but now we had no choice and that was when we stopped using the little ones as scouts, instead sending a warrior or two to survey the pathway ahead. We often travelled through dusk and set off in the moments before dawn, so great was our perhaps unnecessary fear of bandits. It was very difficult, even for the older children, to keep up the pace. Eisla was wonderful though, and I began to wonder what sort of a mother she would have been if not for that fateful day when the sea-Raiders had destroyed her village and her family with it.

Halfway along the range, on the inside face, we could see the signs of a village. It was not as small as some of the others we had visited and soon I would learn why, but I did begin to wonder as to what sort of a people could possibly thrive here. There was plenty of forest beyond the mountain, which looked as if it would provide a good supply of game and I could see the edges of a large lake, but I knew full well that large forests meant various tribes-people as well as savage beasts and the lake an easy way to dysentary and cholera.

"We'll head straight for the village," I told the other men one night as we were preparing for tomorrow's expedition. "Then the younger ones will be able to rest and we can get ourselves in order before making a presentation of ourselves to the leaders of the School." I also knew that it would be safer than daring to journey through the horrendously thick forest. Godric's memories could not provide me much experience from there but they told me of the stories and the terrified looks on the faces of those who had survived the journey through.

One morning, we set out early as usual. Two of the warriors went ahead of us carefully clambering along the mountain ridges, sending out a signal every now and then to tell us that all was well. Eisla and Fabia-Miriam stayed amongst the younger ones whilst Stanislaus, Philip, myself and the other men arranged ourselves as an escort surrounding the central group of the young women and children. Some of us kept our strings to our bows just in case and the young boys had their slings ready with at least two shots in them. They had indeed made me proud and learnt much from the warriors.

We had started descending, scaling the mountain carefully, following the safe track partly made for us by our scouts, our horses and ponies doing well and us warriors leading the packs down as well as looking overhead us warily.

As we approached the bottom of the peak that obscured our view of the village, a sudden hail of arrows arched over our heads, startling a few of the children and injuring the few warriors who were at the front of the group. Eisla turned and pointed upwards. I turned my head quickly and saw dark shadows make their treacherous way down. They didn't need to get too close to us - two rows of bowmen shot and aimed alternately, darkening the sky above us with arrows. I swore that some of the children were injured and so, feeling my heart pound ferociously, I immediately ordered the warriors at the front and side to continue riding fast down the slope with the children and Eisla. To my horror, Fabia-Miriam stayed with me and the others, among which was Stanislaus. Some of the other children and the three or four warriors that had started downhill with them also stopped as they saw our attackers advance and the bowmen continue to shoot.

The warriors by my side began to shoot and those of us without bows - including myself - began to make our way up cautiously, with our swords unsheathed. Unbeknownst to me, whilst we made our way up to meet our attackers, the children behind me spread out, crawling on the ground and readying their slings.

Imagine then, my surprise as I came up to meet the foremost of my aggressors, who had a sword in one hand and a ball of magic glowing in the other, and he simply collapsed to the ground, a bloody hole and a small rock in the back of his head.

Briefly I looked about me for whoever had provided me the service and, not finding anyone, I continued making my way upwards, a fury raging within me: these sorcerors, as opposed as they were to the plans of my brother and his friends, had no right to take out their fury on the children. As I slashed and hacked my way upwards, it dawned on me that these people must have followed us, which explained why our scouts had not seen anything suspicious, which made me even angrier as it meant they knew where we were headed and that there were children amongst us.

"Bastards!" I shouted, and the man before me simply grinned evilly at me and brought his own sword down meeting mine with a loud clang and sparks of light. I looked down at the hilt of my sword, the sword that had once been my Gryphon, and saw the blade in two pieces amidst the sparse blades of grass. A growl rose within my throat and I grabbed the man's sword hand, twisted it brutally until the bone snapped and tried to grab his own sword. I did not succeed, but so angry was I that I could feel that same force that had helped me with the earlier memory spell, urge it's way through me, blasting the life out of the warrior before me. I was momentarily stunned: I had no idea that I could wield death as well as life.

I unsheathed my other sword, Godric's sword, and brought it upwards in a swift curve, slicing another man's chest open. I continued in much the same form, occasionally being relieved of having to kill anyone due to some deadly accurate slingshot from one of my unseen ruffians.

Our battle continued and I had no idea of the number of men that I had managed to kill, but their numbers were thinning. At one point, those surviving of the good hearted mercenaries who had dared journey this far for the sake of their new apprentices and young comrades, stood upright from wherever they stood and with me, surveyed what was left of the enemy, skulking behind the rocks. A small number of their bowmen were left, enough to endanger us, and their swordsmen continued to duel, but half-heartedly. I could see that our own men were tiring as well, which worried me. I even worried myself; sweat trickled down through my eyelashes and I could feel my breath labouring.

"Godric!"

I turned, to the source of the voice.

"Stanislaus--?"

The sword blade just missed scalping me. Godric's sword and my right hand rose up to meet it as it jabbed for my throat. I looked up at my new foe to see a man, quite a bit taller than me and smooth chinned like myself with cool, brown eyes blazing into mine.

He got out a dagger from his tunic and began to block my attacks. Following suit, I took out the dagger that Malig had given me as a farewell gift and was surprised to hear it sing: it was a fine, well crafted and deadly dagger, better than I had thought it would be. It sliced through the man's tunic where he had dodged my swipe and thus saved his skin.

The man was too fast for me, though. I could feel it. Tears began coursing down my cheeks: I had no wish to die now, not when we were so near the School, not without telling Kale and the mysterious Salazar - no, not mysterious, I could feel Godric's memories rise within me, but wise and funny - what had really happened. Godric's friends were now my friends, his students were now my students. I had too much to live for. I could not die. Not after everything.

But die I would if I did not keep up and beat the pace.

"Oh you surprise me, Gelda," the man whispered into my ear as he parried a lunge of my own. "You surprise me so much. You have certainly improved."

"What?" I gasped. How did this man know who I was?

Then I looked at the man again. She looked at me too and smiled mockingly. "Thought you were the only one, bitch?" She snarled. "Thought your brother's foes had no sisters either, eh, bitch? I'm as good as you, and just as lucky, you'll see." I put my sword point to her throat and she stopped smiling. "They talk of sisterhood and I laugh." Quickly - my gods she was so quick - she yanked her body back and lunged for my ankles. I quickly stepped back and managed to crunch her wrist underfoot. She screamed in pain and I knew I had shattered the small bones that make up the wrist completely. Those anatomy books had once again come in useful.

_Not so lucky, _I thought to myself.

She got to her feet and as she did so, slightly stunned with her sword hand damaged, she swapped hands and came at me heavily from an odd angle leaving me only able to ward her off with the flat side of my sword. She broke the blade, but only in two, not in three as the previous warrior had managed to do. Unsteady after the blow, her body followed the attack through and I quickly ran her through with what was left of my sword and let her drop.

Seeing her - him as they must have thought - fall, the few remaining of her warriors stopped fighting and backed hastily away in retreat. I staggered and would have fallen if not for Stanislaus and another warrior.

I cursed and the warrior - a former soldier of the Legion - laughed aloud and patted me on the back. I was a man again.

We tended our wounded when we got to the village. The worst wounded had been quickly treated on the mountain itself and were being escorted down the slopes by the son of the village's headman and his men, and the rest of us prepared beds and warm fires for them. The few dead were burned on a pyre as befitted the custom of mercenaries such as themselves.

The people of the village were not the friendly sort that I had grown used to travelling through Pictland and I could see why. They must have seen groups like ours often and been attacked themselves by various sorcerors. They were kind enough, I suppose, in that they quickly erected shelters and allowed the children and women to share their homes but as men we were simply bandaged and fed and expected to sleep on the floor of the large sheltered area that served as a sort of tavern. However, they remained unhappy to see us there, and barely answered any of our questions.

There were several blacksmith's and I took the remnants of my two swords to the worst tempered of them that I could find - Godric had taught me that such men don't want strangers coming twice so they do their very best every time, with nothing to distract them.

"This'll be easy," he said, in irony or not I couldn't tell, but he began to place the pieces as if they were to make one blade rather than two.

"Wait," I said, "I had two--"

"Well now yer'll ge' one nice strong 'un," he snapped and got to work. "I ken wha' I'm doin' or d'ye wan' ter do i'f fer yersel'?"

It was difficult to get to sleep that night: men get just as excitable as women and they were too busy delighting in the skill of their young charges, their shrewdness and their bravery (we were fortunate that none had been killed and only a few injured) in the fighting. But even those who had chosen to continued downhill were proudly boasted of in their eagerness to stay and bandage up the men who had fought to protect them. It was endearing to see these men, used to fighting without mercy if only for what coin could pay for, many still wounded (I daren't use my magic as these soldiers were distrustful of such things and I did not know how successful I would be or whether I would simply make things worse) and bandaged up, waving their arms and showing off how many they had killed, how they had killed them and how many their apprentices had shot down.

"Ah, but what should we do now, hm?" One turned to me and asked. "These villagers'll let us eat all we want but they won't be happy about it. How far is this School of yours, good man?"

"About half a days walk with all the young ones," I replied. I knew of the enchantment that the four of us - no, Godric and the three - had placed on that road: those that desired to get to the School out of goodwill would find it a far less arduous journey than those who didn't. A_ far _less arduous journey (Helga had made sure of that, I remembered).

"And will they be glad to see us?" He asked. "These nobles who run the place?"

"Of course," I said. "I know them well, you see - they'll want you as men at arms, to train up the young ones: these are dangerous times we're living in after all."

The men agreed and after that, we began to go to sleep.

I was up before dawn because something in Godric's memories told me that that was a right time for... Lady Ravenclaw.

I made my way to the entrance of the village and waited. At first I could see nothing through the mist but I enjoyed the cool air and the scent of the dew. I stood, leaning against the post of the gate and inhaling deeply. I had battled and won, after all. The victory that I had barely let myself favour over the hustle of getting our men to the village flowed freely through my veins. Now, I said to myself, now I know for sure, in all ways, what it meant to be Godric.

The mist did not exactly clear but I began to hear the sound of horses shoes and the quiet noise of humans coming closer and closer.

And then there they were, on horses tall and proud unlike our stubby ponies and Pictish hill horses. The Lady Rowena Ravenclaw looked down on me from her mount, surrounded by an escort of young pages, men and women, dress in blue liverie. I stared and as I did so, memories of her, completely at odds with the stern woman before me, swam across my vision; this woman had been like a sister to my brother and my brother had intended for her to continue my education. But, as much as he respected and cared for her, he had also felt a little sorry for her. I began to wonder why.

"My lord Godric," she said in that strange voice of hers - infinitely patient and kind but masking a steely tongue - and got off her horse. Her veil shifted, revealing tightly coiled dark brown hair. "My lord we heard such things... we were so worried."

"Perfectly acceptable," I smiled at her. "I was as well."

Her lips twitched. "You are not alone. Slytherine Kale told us that you bring with you your sister..."

"And some new students," I added. "Come and meet them." Before she could reply, I had already turned and made my way back to the village. I heard her give an amused little sigh but she followed me nonetheless.

As we and her company rode through the village, the villagers came out of their houses and bowed to her, including the headman. They began to whisper though, and realise that this rough warrior was one of the Lady Ravenclaw's allies. It was quite amusing.

By the time the sun had come up, the children and Eisla were out in the street, being mounted up onto the horses and bidding good-bye to the formidable villagers who had housed them. The very little ones, with the merest scrap of innocence left in them, promised in shrill voices to visit their hosts when they could. To my surprise, a few of the craggy, harsh faces, lit up with a small but sure twinkle in the eyes. Even the Lady Ravenclaw was touched and I knew that that was a feat in itself.

The warriors, even the worst wounded, refused to stay put and demanded permission to accompany their charges. Lady Ravenclaw looked at me as if to say, "what have you done now, Godric?" but said nothing aloud. She remained gracious and polite.

I went back to the blacksmith, to find him polishing the hilt to my new sword. I waited as he put a better edge to my sword before I took it into my hand and tried it out, in the preliminary exercises of curves and sweeps. It had a similar weight as my former Gryphon, but had the same pattern of grooves and the length of Godric's. "I now have one useless hilt and one useless scabbard, blacksmith," I said teasingly. "And one new blade. Thank you, sir."

He shrugged. "Well, ye c'n mel' the hil' fer menney an' sell the scabbard. Or I c'n make ye anuther."

I left the blacksmith, carefully - almost reverently - sliding the new sword into it's scabbard. The Lady Ravenclaw rose an eyebrow in question when she saw me, her gaze directed at my new sword. I shrugged and mouthed 'broken blade' before getting on a horse. We all set out, our now enlarged company of refugees, warriors, sorcerors and horses, for the School.

"You won't recognise it anymore, Godric," Lady Ravenclaw said to me smugly. "It is hardly the Hog's warts anymore, you know."

"Oh I'll believe that when I see it," I grinned back at her.

She sighed irritably and clucked to her horse. It shook it's mane and whinnied before breaking into a canter.

And thus we continued our journey. And I realised that I had passed my test.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"So, what are you going to call your new sword?" The Lady Ravenclaw asked me wryly as continued to journey up the school. "That's the sort of thing you warriors do, isn't it?"

I grinned. No wonder Godric had liked her.

"I think I shall call it, _Gryphondor_," I replied.

"Hm," she seemed to be thinking awhile. "The... _better Gryphon_. That's interesting. Was the first one only mediocre?"

"The first one got broken, Lady," I replied, trying not to laugh.

She grinned as well, then covered her mouth with a hand. "Well, in that case, you shall be Lord Godric of the Gryphondor, and I am the Lady of the Ravenclaw along with Salazar of the Slytherine and... Helga." She stopped. "Rather spoils the flow, doesn't it?"

I chuckled and she smiled appreciatively. "Salazar can't wait to see you again, you know: he and the Abbess have been driving me into lunacy," she went on, a touch of drama to her voice. "And the swamp people have sent us two more of their children to be taught at the School. It's a good thing: it means that they trust us now, or at least they want us to trust them. Though I do wonder who Salazar had to kill to get them to allow it..."

I laughed out loud at that. That was a mistake: if they were going to catch me out as Godric before I could reveal myself, it would be by my laugh.

"Your sister is very pretty. There is some family resemblance between you, though I'll admit to being blind to such trifles. Is she sorcerous or mundane?"

"Mundane."

"Shame. Still, we need all the brains we can get, and you can always marry her off to Kale or something, can't you?" I looked at her, aghast, and she laughed merrily, the hidden beauty that my brother had once mentioned shining through. "I say that only in jest, Lord Gryphondor. Kale is simply not worthy to be consorted with your beautiful sister..." she trailed off, looking into the distance. "Oh, I'm just so happy you're here, Godric," she said softly. "It's been a trial for us, waiting for word from you: first your village, then that attack on the mountain..." The Lady Ravenclaw looked behind us. "So many new students... are they all sorcerous?"

"No, but mostly." I replied.

"And those mercenaries..."

"Utterly mundane."

She laughed. "Again that's a pity, considering our real enemies are sorcerors, but they'll be good for a defence. They could even train up the older ones..." and away she went into her head again. "If they want to, of course," she added sincerely.

"Of course," I nodded. "How is your missal coming along?" I asked politely.

She shrugged. "Fair enough, though I won't rest until I find something to help my poor lepers. Salazar and I have been able to improve our remedies a great deal, and the leprosy tends to disappear after a few months, but I want to know how to prevent it. Is it an unbalance of humors? If so, which? It's nothing that can be cured by bloodletting... certainly keeping the villagers clean has helped..." She sighed. "I don't know. And the villagers need more weapons to defend themselves against Raiders and enemy sorcerors... we need iron, and lots of it. I've started building the village walls in stone, though, so they can't be set fire to... and to be honest, we really need weapons that are more effective than mere blades. Salazar tells me that swamp gas is dangerous when lit, but as we're not allowed into the forest, and the swamp people are discouraged from getting out..."

"Greek fire..." I murmured under my breath. To my surprise, she heard me.

"Well, yes," she replied in a low, careful voice so that no one else could hear. "I had thought of that, actually, but that's pretty risky... it could do more harm to the villagers than to the enemy. And it's so..." she shook her head. "I am still sending out messengers with promises of an alliance, but they haven't returned with any satisfactory result, so the Lord knows I want to end this with as little bloodshed as possible. Preferably none, but they've already seen to it that that can't be done..."

I instinctively stroked her arm. "Lady, don't fret yourself so much. We will all think of something, all four of us together, as well as the Abbess and monks..."

"Oh I thank God for them every morning," she smiled crookedly. "I mourn the day they will be leaving..."

My heart leapt. The Godric in me, however, was not unnerved by this piece of information.

"Oh yes," she went on, "the Abbess will certainly be leaving, once the main Hall is finished. The monks want to stay though, and help us. The Abbess has to leave, to get back to her order." Lady Ravenclaw smiled sadly.

The rest of the journey was littered with polite conversation as we started going further uphill. I spent a lot of the time secretly observing the Lady. Godric had said that she had come from far to the East, but her colouring seemed closer to home. Aside from that, I frequently got the feeling the Lady Ravenclaw did not wish to say much for fear her pages turn it into gossip, because she would often leave sentences unfinished or look as if she wanted to say something, but then think twice about it. I understood now why Godric had always felt slightly sorry for her: for all that she was wise and strong, she was still a woman, and she had to guard her words and tend her persona carefully. It would have been better if she were a man, I thought to myself, then I laughed scornfully in my head: what, the way I was?

"How is Helga?" I asked at one point.

Lady Ravenclaw shrugged. "She is well enough, though she frustrates Salazar as much as anything: he still doesn't trust her."

"Well..." I began, but she waved a hand dismissively.

"Godric, you can see his point - I know you are fair, but even so... she just appeared literally out of nowhere, and as much as I love her, even I can admit he has at least cause to be suspicious. Still, when you are with us, it won't be so bad. He can take it all out on you instead!" And we both laughed, as Godric's memories of the two of them exercising against each other in the fighting courts came to my head.

It was a little past midday, and we had stopped on the road for the horses to rest and for the rest of us to mingle with one another. I returned to Eisla, who grinned excitedly at me.

"Can you believe it?" She asked me gently, reminding me of myself when I had started journeying with Godric. "We are here, safe at last!"

I laughed. Yes, it seemed so strange. I had acquired three long new scars, callouses on my hands and skin as tanned as any farmer's wife, two broken swords and yet here I was, alive, veteran of battles in which I had lost those I loved the most...

"It's only a little way up, now," I said to her. "Then you will be treated well and bathed and feasted."

She laughed, tossing her hair in a very Eisla-like way. "Nearly all my life I have travelled: I never once thought I would ever come across an opportunity like this. In reality, my travelling days are over now. We will have to keep up this pretence for as long as possible, and I wonder whether we'll be able to discard it at all." Her face was suddenly pensive and I knew in my heart that she was telling the truth, but the truth terrified me.

The new students all looked excited as well, the little ones chattering to anyone who would listen, which unfortunately sometimes included Lady Ravenclaw. When she managed to get rid of them, she would talk to the other travellers we had arrived with, particularly the mercenaries, many of whom were no longer injured. The older men, the travelling doctors and merchants all wanted to include her in their discussion about possible trade routes with the village and the school, or setting up apothecaries of their own. She was as gracious, but firm, as ever and I could already see the seeds of new ideas taking root in her head. This was her in her element.

With the horses watered and fed, Lady Ravenclaw stepped up onto her steed and called out to the group: "Look, the School is not far now, so I am sure we can pick up our pace." As she said that, she set off at a quick trot, forcing the rest of us to keep up with her. When I managed to, I could see a smile on her face. "I do so love riding fast -- I love the feel of the wind in my veil."

"You would have made a terrible nun," I teased. "How would you have been able to stay inside all day long?"

"Not all nuns live in enclosures, I'll have you know, Godric," she said, raising her nose, and then she laughed. "Come on!" She urged her horse into a gallop and I did the same.

The School appeared over the horizon as we raced ahead, held in place by the surrounding mountains. "Oh no!" Lady Ravenclaw sighed. "It _does _still look like the Hog's warts!" We both laughed, my laugh a good imitation of Godric's old, booming one and Lady Ravenclaw's a throaty, rather unladylike laugh of her own. "To me, students and defenders of the Hog's warts!" She cried out to our charges galloping along behind us, "to me!"

Laughing, we eventually slowed down a little and then finally to a quick trot as we reached the entrance to the as of yet unfinished building. There were men and women digging more foundations round the building, planks of wood being sawn and nailed to form the frame, daub being applied for insulation and stone being cut away from several large piles to be built up using a sort of cement. Several younger people were climbing the roof, finishing off the main rafters with lathes, and on the ground were monks treading in a mix of mud and dung to make more daub, whilst others went over the plans with the head workmen. I raised my head and saw up the mountain face on which were several pens, where the land had been cleared of all trees and prepared for future buildings, goats nibbling away at any grass that had managed to spring up and the beginnings of foundations being dug out. I could see holes gaping in the mountain, caves from which paths led to and from. These in themselves were lined with men leading carts filled with earth and rock. To the west, was the giant lake that Godric had told me about and covering the southern most bank, was the forest that enroached upon the rest of the mountain range that lay further to the south. The scale took my breath away. Returning my eyes back to ground level, there, amidst all the noise and business, standing in front of the newly carved doors, was a slim, pale figure dressed in a calve length tunic and leggings made up of thick straps of hide. It was a man.

It was Salazar.

The Godric within me took control of my body and I leapt off my horse before it had come to a complete halt and ran to him, unsheathing my sword and turning the blade slightly to flash the sun's rays at him in a signal. He let out an odd sort of cry in greeting and came towards me, at a jog. I put my sword back into it's scabbard and ran into a brotherly embrace with him.

"Spiri's hear me praise you! Thank you for my frien'," I heard him murmur under his breath in the swamp tongue, then he looked at me again from arm's length and hugged me again.

He was quite tall, only a little taller than me (though Godric's memory told me there was nothing wrong with that - they had been nearly the same height) - which surprised me to think I had grown so much - with strange pale skin, long, pale brown hair and light blue eyes. Everything about him reminded me of a person I had once seen as a child, in a nearby town, who my father told me was an albino. Salazar looked as though he were a halfway stop between pure albinism and a person with normal colouring. I was fascinated to think that this was Godric's close, sorceror friend.

"Dammit, man, say somethin'!" He shook me, an oddly strong grip for such a delicate looking man.

"Something," I managed, and he gave me a look of mock-annoyance, then grinned. "I hear Helga's been getting you annoyed lately..."

"Ach," he shrugged. "There's nothin' unusual abou' tha'."

"True," I nodded, and looked out to the School. "Don't tell Ravenclaw I said this, but you lot have done a good deal of work..."

"Well, there was a hitch: we had a change o' plans," he said, leading me into the School. "We're replacin' the wood wi' stone and brick, like some of the Roman buildin's, for example... bu' tha's a new skill for this area. The stone is relatively easy bu' brick, well... we got several types o' brick ready with diff'rent mixes o' dung an' straw an' mud an' all those sorts of thin's, but mos' jus' crumble away." He looked at me. "For a fen-child like me, i' all seems so strange. In the Fores', near the swamp, it's so we' and humid, we jus' build in trees out of wood an' shoots and fire doesn' burn, i' only smoulders." Salazar tipped his head to one side, "still, I've travelled far an've got some new ideas... I've also go' the Summoner from our swamps, to pu' in some spells for protection into the stone an' wood an' bricks... Ravenclaw says it's a good idea, an' the Abbess is in alliance wi' the Summoner: Her God won' be sacrificing a part o' himself to protec' the School, unlike our spirits, so I suppose he can afford to. The more gods behin' us, the better," he laughed coarsely.

Both the Gelda and Godric in me marvelled at the new energy driving these his old friends. I knew that it had been the slaughter and murder that had followed us which had driven them and spurred them on, but it still seemed so strange to think of these people as they were now, to what they were then.

"Lot of money, all this," I said critically, having entered the front part of the Great Hall, we went through another set of doors to enter the main part. To the right and left, I saw stairs leading upwards to the unfinished towers I had seen outside. The memories reminded me that they were the guardrooms that also led to the double walls which would house the guards and sorcerors on duty and protected the rest of the school. This part was all built in stone: it was like no building I had seen before.

"Yes... tha's wha' the village is for: they have some of the best blacksmith's in the area there. The iron in the hills is o' very good quality, you know, an' there's lots of gold trapped away in the lan' to the north o' the stead." He looked at me. "No' to mention the mead tha's go' them famous through the northlands..."

Lady Ravenclaw approached us. "It's based on one of the Abbeys I visited in Europe. I mixed in some of the old Roman fort designs as well. When this wall and the guard-towers are finished, we shall start on the outer wall that will in turn protect the Hall and will reach up onto the mountain face as well, to protect all the space where any of our people may find themselves working. The guards will be moved to defend us there and these towers here can be used as watchtowers or star-watching posts for the students. We'll need them to help us make our almanac..."

Salazar grinned at me. "See? She's always two steps ahead o' us..."

"Hush, snake-tongue," Ravenclaw smiled, a little flattered. "You only say that because you're four steps ahead yourself... only yesterday he told me that he has sent off for slate samples for our roofs, and he's been conversing with the mountain folk as to whether they can make tiles on a larger scale rather than just for roofing their pigsties, all this behind my back!" Salazar winked at me.

I grinned at him, "don't forget his plans to build the school inside the mountain in case of an attack..."

"Oh by the saints, I'd nearly forgotten!" Ravenclaw replied wryly. She turned to the men, women and children who were now milling around in the Hall. "People, this Hall is not yet finished, and have no worries, you are not expected to stay here, but you will be expected to help us finish this so that you will be able to sleep and study here in comfort. For now, you will have to sleep in the kitchens, with some of the other students, and in the huts that line the North wall with the rest."

"The Lady Ravenclaw is righ'," Salazar spoke up. "An' so we begin with a role call of abilities: those who know how to work with wood, even the young ones - any experience with cuttin', shapin' wood?" I scanned the group and I saw a two small hands go up, and a few of the mercenaries. "Alrigh', so to tha' side," Salazar gestured. "Anyone know anythin' abou' plan's? Herbs? Healin'?" More hands went up, particularly amongst the women. "Good, stan' over here, then." He counted them quickly and frowned. "Alrigh'... well, anyone good with animals, like packhorses? Lifting heavy things, like rocks, say--" Ravenclaw and I glanced at each other and sniggered, "--over there. Quickly now, the day's half gone already. Now, those who c'n count, an' read an' write already, an' those who are good at bargainin'? Tha's right... jus' separa'e yourself from the main group." I was amused to see some of the travelling merchants and their adopted apprentices raise their hands.

"What about the rest of them?" Ravenclaw whispered.

"Oh, there are plen'y o' odd jobs aroun'; they c'n help wi' the libr'y, for instance," Salazar murmured back, "or diggin' foundations, or takin' lessons wi' the monks..."

I couldn't help smiling: there was no rest for us.

"Those o' you who are woodworkers or c'n deal with heavy loads an' animals, stay here. The ones who c'n count an' bargain, follow me, those o' you good with plants, just go outside through that door to my righ', an' you'll mee' the monks who're a' work with some o' the others."

Ravenclaw clapped her hands. "Follow me, please," she called, sternly, "those who will go into the gardens and the rest of you. I'll take you to where you'll be needed." Eisla was amongst them who followed her, and she waved and smiled farewell to me.

Salazar turned to me and smiled sadly. "I'll see you a' the feas', eh? I know i's no' righ' we 'ave to ge' back to work so soon, bu'..."

"No, no..." I replied, smiling back. "I'll take care of the others until the Steward arrives, yes?"

"Please..." Ravenclaw breathed, brushing past us and waving the two groups to follow her.

"See you," Salazar grinned and patted my arm. "Alrigh' you lo', we're goin' to tha' side o' the Hall, wi' the others. I have a lo' to teach you before we se' you off to the village tomorrow!" And off he went with his group.

I went to join the mercenaries and young sorcerors who had volunteered for pack and woodwork. "I'm sure you can see that this place needs to be finished first, but you needn't worry about going hungry. Guard duty has already been arranged, as well, so it'll take a while before she slots you lot in. You'll get your chance to do what you've been trained for soon enough," I reassured them.

They nodded in agreement. "That's alright, sir. To be honest, I don't see why any of us would want to leave a haven like this for the track and road," said one and they laughed.

It wasn't long until one of the head workmen, a man roughly my own height, but twice as wide, with hair as white as snow, and shiny pink scars around his wrists and biceps, came to us through the same entrance that Ravenclaw and her troupe had just left. "You'll be the ones who'll help us with the wood, yes?" Then he saw me, "ah, greetings once again Lord Godric... or is it Gryphondor?" I grinned at him and he turned back to the men. "You little ones get going outside - there's wood shavings to be swept and other such chores to be done: go on now, get going or do I have to walk you out there myself like you were babies?" They scampered through the large doorway. "And the rest of you men can help us fell of the trees on the south side of the Northern peaks, follow me, please."

The men obeyed and followed his directions to the front where they would pick up their axes before being sent off to join the corps on the mountain. "Could you join me and the monks with the plans, Lord Godric?" The man asked me.

Outside, I joined him, the four other head workmen and the two monks, over the stretched and pinned vellum on which were drawn the ink sketches of the school. Looking at it, I could see that it would take a long while, but at the speed they were working at, and with more travellers bound this way to provide manpower, they were bound to have it completed within our lifetimes.

I could see that the next step, once the Great Hall was finished was to build another wall - of single thickness - within the bailey which could separate the Great Hall from the building that would serve as living quarters as well as classrooms, a large tower, with roughly the same circumference as the Great Hall was wide, that would rise to include four floors, and include - as I saw on another panel - an attic to house the hawks and owls.

"The foundations have already been dug for this haven't they?" I asked.

The monks and the workmen laughed. "We've done a huge amount since you last visited, Lord Godric," one of the monks, a young one with a jolly face, laughed. "We have the topmost floor and the roof to finish, and then we can start making the kitchen a bit bigger... we have word of three dozen refugees who wish to make their home here: Englishmen whose ancestors had been driven into Wales by the Angles..."

"The Pale folk..." I breathed.

"Aye," spoke the other monk.

"... they heard of our refuge, and wanted a place where they could live. Many of them were from sorcerous families in the days of the Romans, and now that they have been driven from their lands, their power and knowledge is being lost with each generation, as they have to spend all their time settling in and raising their animals: some sort of disease keeps on striking them, and their crops tend to rot due to the climate..."

"Hm. I'm imagining even the living quarters won't be enough," I mused aloud. They shook their heads.

"Which is why we need you, you see my Lord, we need to get some plans in order, some rough sketches at least, so that we can show them to the Ladies Ravenclaw and Helga - Lord Salazar can get the budget planned and the mountain folk can help us raise the funds." The young monk grinned at me.

"What's your name, boy?" I asked him, curiously.

"Brother Inigo, my Lord," he said cheerfully. I had never heard of such a name before, but I nodded politely. Later, Ravenclaw would explain to me that he and several others - including the blond head workman - had been rescued from a Raidership wreck on the coast. They had been part of the slave - thrall - cargo bound for the markets in the part of Angleland occupied by what was called the Danelaw. As such, Ravenclaw had bound the captain and his freemen to work for her as punishment for carrying slaves and viciously raiding the countless towns and villages she had once sought refuge in herself. She had also freed the slaves and the future Brother Inigo was one of them. Most of the others had opted to work as freemen, rather than monks, or to work in the village in the mountains.

"And he's always smiling - he hasn't drank any mead that's been out in the sun or anything," said the other monk tiredly. Brother Inigo laughed and went back to the sketches. I supposed that if one had been a slave, you probably learned to look on the bright side of life.

I spent the rest of the day with them, drawing out the area we would need to be prepared for the other buildings and thus how far the outer wall was to be built.

"We could always build into the mountain as well, when we've finished mining," one of the headmen remarked. "Use the caves to store supplies and such things..."

"Or that library that Salazar and Brother Clement are always dreaming about," Brother Inigo offered, for once looking serious, though his eyes had the mischievous gleam that betrayed his sunny nature.

We nodded.

"We found a vein of good quality rock in the mountains, my Lord, and the earth we dig supplies us with enough mud to use in the daub," the blond - Svey - headman offered. "Some of the extra land can be used for the young ones to farm. It'd make us completely self-sufficient..."

"... except for beer, but we can get that from the village," the other monk said, a weary smile on his face.

It was about an hour or so later when the gong sounded and we were herded into the Great Hall which had roughly made benches and stools inside. I was directed to sit with the headmen, the Abbess and Brother Clement, Salazar, Ravenclaw and Helga. Eisla was sitting with her group and already making some good friends. I wondered how she was getting on, pretending to be me. I returned my attention to my companions.

"Why, Lord Godlic," Helga smiled at me prettily. Out of the four of us, she was the oldest, that I could tell immediately. Though she was slim and youthful looking, I could tell by her fuller figure that she had been a mother, but there were no lines round her eyes or grey in her dark blonde hair. "It iz velly good to see you vunce agin. How arre you?"

I bowed my head. "Very well, Lady, I thank you."

"I heard that you ver attacked... on the mountain side... even viz der childrren?" She asked, and I saw real concern in her eyes.

"Did you see where they had come from?" Ravenclaw asked, more sharply than I knew she meant to be. "We have many enemies, but a few of the more powerful ones are known to us..."

The Abbess nodded. I studied her lined face as well, and she gave me a small, tranquil smile, that reminded me all too much of one of my mother's aunts. "There is no way we can send for more men-at-arms." The serene lady added. "Rome no longer has that sort of power, and the message would have to get through the Danelaw and then the other kingdoms of the south first, not to mention the wastes of Gaul and the lawless northern Italy," she sighed, but it was a soothing one for all that it spoke of her distress. "We must rely on the very refugees who come here for relief. It feels shameful to put them to work, but work we must if ever we mean to be completely safe..."

"Well," I began,"I don't believe they were sent by anyone in particular... it seemed more of a revenge attack for one of theirs whom I had killed earlier."

There was a strained silence.

"Oh, that's rich," rumbled Brother Clement. "They try to slaughter our children and then avenge themselves on our number for any of their killed."

Salazar nodded and I could see anger rising in his face.

"But such iss zis var we arre fighting, Brother," Helga said, and I could now see why Salazar distrusted her: for all her genuine compassion, her voice seemed unnecessarily soothing, and the way she leaned forward appeared rather more intimate than the situation required. It wasn't as if any had been killed, after all. I looked at him, and saw that beneath the calm exterior, he had gritted his teeth. I swallowed back a smile.

The food soon arrived from the kitchens and it was more food than I had seen in the several months I had been travelling since the day the Raiders came. Dish after dish arrived: bread in the shape of plates for us to load the thick pottage on, slabs of meat, (pork and lamb) and roasted chickens and pheasants. Black toureens of stew and soup; baskets filled with bread of all shapes and sizes. Then there came the fish obviously caught in the lake itself, some with their tails in their mouths, some in soups, some sliced into fillets (such as the large salmon). I looked to Salazar in pure astonishment and he grinned back at me. "Makes your mouth water, eh?" He grinned.

When the food had been settled, the Abbess stood for prayers and thanked her God for the food and his graciousness in the traditional Christian tongue that I recognised from Godric's lessons, the language from the lands of the Hellenes. Then Salazar stood and spoke in what was neither the common tongue or the swamp-tongue. It was the infamous snake-tongue that only the favourites of the swamp spirits could speak. I couldn't understand a word of what he was saying, but a chill ran through me. When he had finished and sat down, the silence was as if we were all considering whether the spirits had accepted his words.

Then we ate, and ate to our fill and more. The food was the tasty but filling type, though I could identify a few spices that made the meal even more delicious. It was comparable to the feasts that we occasionally held at home, but this was even better because the food just kept on piling in.

The mead from the village flowed freely, as did the wine, imported from Rome itself, which offered me another surprise as I had never tasted such a concoction, though of course I had seen and heard of it before. It was sweet and thick and stung my tongue, even though we drank it the Roman way and mixed it with water from the springs. Salazar drank more of the mead than wine, though it was the opposite for Ravenclaw who had been brought up in a wine-drinking country.

"How did this come to be?" I asked. "How on earth did you manage to produce so much of this wonderful food...?"

"Our secret?" Salazar raised an eyebrow. "The monks."

I looked at Brother Clement who smiled and nodded. "It's true. It's the way we do things in the monastery, only there we're discouraged from such rich fare. No matter," he said, and reached for his beaker. Then he said wryly, "there is so much here: I think it's a curse from God Almighty to get us all complacent..."

Salazar grinned and nodded. "That sounds more like it: this God you worship sounded too good to be true. You know, between he and the spirits, they'll manage to cook up something nasty." With that they all laughed and I wondered what their gods must have thought to hear this amusing blasphemy. The Abbess shook her head and tutted at Brother Clement although I could tell she was nonetheless quite amused and Svey looked mildly disapproving though I knew he was a Raidersman and as such held his old beliefs.

Ravenclaw and Helga were the quietest throughout our dining and I could tell that they were both thinking about something quite important. Occasionally they would murmur to one another or make some private joke. I remembered that for all that Ravenclaw sometimes found Helga far too submissive and Helga found Ravenclaw a little wild, they did in fact get on quite well.

"I overheard that you have started making the more detailed plans for the rest of the school - the part that will be built on the mountain face," Ravenclaw began over a goblet of wine. "Which reminds me, I have a few ideas for the interior of the buildings which I will show you when the students and other travellers have been put to bed by the monks." She put a knife with skewered bits of duck into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Then she smiled, "and I take it Salazar has not told you of our best secret here? How we managed to build so much of the School? I think you asked before but I didn't answer you properly."

She looked really excited now, and so I knew that it must have been something quite special. "Go on, Lady, tell me," I said with a mock weary intonation in my voice.

The others laughed.

"We managed to pool in all our magics together and we came up with a way to let the stonework sort of knit itself together, making the building more secure and stronger. We did something similar with the roofs, so that the rafters could 'grow' overnight so now all they're doing is preparing them for the tiles and slates we want to get for the roof."

I looked at the others to make sure she was not joking but they all nodded, smiling expectantly at me.

"That is ..." I couldn't find the words to describe it. She nodded gleefully.

"We've improved on the spell, though," she added. "Now all we have to do is dig foundations and such, then we start on the frame, and they grow themselves overnight as well. The basic stone and brickwork can be done and then that finishes itself overnight as well."

"We realised we had to get the School to finish itself if we wanted it done by Winter," Salazar said. "Our present plans just went to the Great Hall, remember, and the first wall and towers... now it's expanding: we hear everyday of groups of sorcerors and such fleeing and heading our way. We are already crowded - we need the space..."

"So by tomorrow..." I began.

"The first layer on the roof will be finished and we can start bringing in the rest of the tables and benches for the Great Hall down from the carpenters in the village," Helga finished for me and smiled merrily.

"And the classrooms will be completely finished." Brother Clement added. "Actually, we have the travellers themselves to thank for that in the main... they were so determined to be able to have proper lessons, that they've been working at incredible speed."

"By the time it is winter," Salazar said, "the main building of the new bit of the school will be finished and we can carry on working, but on the inside: we've managed to refine the sorcery to help us build at a quicker pace. I look forward to the day when we can just magic a house though..."

"I know such a spell for somezing similarr anyvay," Helga supplied. "I shall go thloo it viz you ven Ravenclow shows Godlic her plans forr zer inside of our School... you can help me refine it forr larrger buildings such as zis..."

Salazar bowed his head respectfully, "thank you, Lady Helga. I think we've started discussin' diggin' more foundations for the res' o' the buildin's come spring..."

The time did come when the monks ushered the people of the School into the sleeping quarters. About half an hour later, a gong was struck for the monks and those who professed to be Christians to attend some sort of gathering.

"A short Mass," Brother Clement said to me in explanation.

The twelve of us (including Eisla) sat at the table and Ravenclaw smoothed out her plans, drawn out on vellum. "I had an idea that would save us having to build staircase upon staircase..." She pointed to the vellum. "Look, moving staircases: means we don't have to build floor after floor either. The staircases need a lot of space to be able to move around as planned..."

"My, that's ambitious," I said drily and she scowled at me.

"We have experience already in this sort of thing, what with having built the rest of the School by then," she replied. "There are also some copies of basic spells for such an enchantment as written by the Roman and Greek sorcerors..." She pointed to the plans. "It's easy, though: we start to build the staircases as we would normally, only we must be careful with our measurements and thus with the range of positions for each staircase - we will have to build extra ledges for the staircases to slot into, that sort of thing..."

"Shall you and I go over the measurements with Isri and Svey tomorrow then, Lady Ravenclaw?" Brother Clement asked. She nodded.

"Will you take my healing class in the morning and teach them swordplay and such, Godric?" She asked me. "Then after breakfast, get them back to general healing and after lunch, healing wounds and such things. We have about four or five groups of travellers bound for us from now until winter and knowing our luck, we'll be getting a few lone wanderers in the winter months, magical and mundane..."

I nodded. "Come winter and we simply teach them, yes?" I asked. "It will be impossible to work on the buildings in the winter, except maybe for the inside as Salazar has said ... anyway, as winter is the beginning of classes, I suggest we spend evenings such as this discussing what we will be teaching them. I take it that wax tablets and slates are all part of the equipment that you and your lot will be purchasing from the village..."

"Good point..." Salazar muttered and the other two women chuckled.

"We will need some of your Brother's magics as well," Lady Ravenclaw said to Brother Clement who nodded. "And I propose we get started on the staircases the instant the roof is finished: we can spend the last of summer and the best part of autumn on the frames, the winter specialising the spells and the next spring finishing them off. At the same time, we'll be furnishing the rooms and so forth."

We all agreed on the new idea. Godric had respected Lady Ravenclaw for the different way she saw things as well as for her inventiveness - I had witnessed it myself now.

Over the next couple of days, the Hog's warts began to take shape. The Great Hall and the kitchens were finished and furnished, the large tower had several floors added to it, was roofed and whitewashed. We even built extra stables out of stone for the horses and used stone to wall the cellars where we started hauling in supplies for the winter: sacks of grain, barrels of wine, beer and vinegar; pillars of salt and sacks of spices and dried meats. The villagers in the mountain were happy enough to send matrons and burly men to help us - not only with food, but also with more material supplies. Their blacksmiths sent us swords and spears, the weavers sent us yards and yards of fabric, the tanners leather and dyed fabrics. We were sent wax and honey from the beekeepers and plenty of newly dried wood.

By the time autumn came, the fruits from the orchards were being sent to us and we decorated the Great Hall and solaces with leaves and wild flowers of the late season. Two more small travelling groups arrived and were split, as was customary, into groups to the best of their ability. In addition to the by now thriving stables, Lady Ravenclaw and Lady Helga, along with several other women from the village, built an infirmary where some of the monks and the old apothecaries - not to mention their 'apprentices' - whom I had travelled with myself resided in. Myself, the mercenaries, and the other men skilled at war, made additions to the stables where we stored our growing collection of armour and weapons.

Eisla had taken up a position of importance, as my 'sister' and ally. She, Lady Helga and Fabia-Miriam began to work with the mundane and younger, unschooled women, teaching them how to sew and embroider, how to read, write and do simple arithmetic, to make clothes and tapestries and also useful herb lore, knowing that they would start their proper lessons once winter had come.

"By next spring," she said to me in private, "this Hall will be the grandest place you've ever seen!"

Stanislaus remained very much my right-hand man and took it upon himself to organise the children too old to be looked after by the Abbess, and yet too young to be of much use around the buildings. He began to teach them how to read and write, how to defend themselves to the best of their ability and all sorts of little things that I had never thought of. He got them making wax tablets and coloured inks, for example and scrubbing the floors and laying out new rushes each morning. Despite our numbers growing, the old hands made sure to encourage and help the newcomers and so we still felt much like a family. As hard work as it was, finishing buildings and stocking up for the long winter ahead, we all felt renewed and invigorated with a new sense of purpose.

Salazar spent most of the time away from the castle, such was his habit, branded as a traveller by his people for all time. He would come back, as if some migratory bird, for the winter, but once the snows had melted, I knew he would be off again, travelling far and wide to learn of magic and herbs and history, garnering knowledge like a greedy raven for his missal. The three of us bid him a sad farewell, for all that we knew it was his duty to travel far and wide, and counted the days until he would return.

Those of us with knowledge of scholarship took to forming the almanac that Lady Ravenclaw was so keen on and also the teaching that would soon begin in earnest. We decided on arranging each group by ability rather than age: those who could neither read nor write were to be taught by two of the monks. Those that could do so, generally did so in Latin and so another class was set up to teach them Greek literature as well as the Pale and Rider tongues (though not in as much depth) and a smattering of the old Gaullic dialect.

The geometrical, logical and philosophical works of those such as Euclid and Pythagoras were to be taught in another class by Brother Clement who specialised in the knowledge of the Hellenes. He would also teach them about the terrain of the land around them and it's history alternately.

This was considered to be the basic education. Lady Ravenclaw was of the opinion that that would be enough to keep even the brightest busy and I agreed with her. However, that would not be enough for our new students to learn. They all had to learn the healing arts, for there would come (and indeed, already had) times when as many as were available were needed to help those who had newly arrived with Raiders and other enemies at their heels: slaves that had to be hand nursed back to health, guardsmen with sword and mace wounds, pregnant women ready for birth and small children, scared and with broken bones. Universal too was the art of horsemanship, for everyone was to have at least one mount of their own and therefore know how to look after them. The sorcerous also had to learn the secrets of their gift and this was where we four would eventually come in.

It was agreed that in order for us to be able to deal with them, the sorcerous would begin their training with the sorcerous monks who would teach them of the theory. From those, each student would be able to decide what it was they wanted to do. Learn a craft (in which case by spring they would be sent to the village) become a monk or help to teach. Those who wished to continue their education had to make clear what it was they wanted to specialise in (if indeed, anything), whether the practical like healing and war magic or the more scholarly aspects.

We each had an ulterior motive. Lady Ravenclaw needed apprentices to help her learn more about the dreaded diseases that afflicted her adopted mountain people, and to unlock the secrets of leprosy. "It's the medicines and such that'll take the most work: I can do the scholarship by myself..." she grinned wryly.

Salazar, too, had thought an apprentice necessary. "A fellow res'less traveller, like myself!" He had chuckled. Someone good at tongues, he had gone on, preferably with good connections, who could put up with hostile villages and had a good head on them. "Someone who can take the initiative, you know? So's I don' 'ave to tell 'em what to do all the time an' everythin'..."

"Does such a person exist?" I had teased. "Sounds like a whole classroom, to me, rather than just the one apprentice."

He had wrinkled his nose at me.

Neither myself nor Helga had any real preference. For all that I was currently disguised as my brother Godric who had always been one for the outdoors, I knew that I was still very much Gelda, who liked nothing more than sitting by a hearth and hearing stories and daydreaming, even though I had discovered my talent at the sword and knife. If I were to have any students of my own (and the thought sent my head spinning), they would have to be prepared to deal with both aspects of my personality.

As for Helga, I could not see any student of the sort favoured by Salazar or the Lady Ravenclaw putting up with her excessive gentleness and compassion. It would take those as gentle-hearted as she or else the most devious sort to learn from her without wanting to brain her!

Eventually winter came. We closed the heavy gates of the outer wall that guarded our School, anticipating bother enemy and friends alike.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

One of the first things we each noticed as Winter dug her cold nails further into the Hog's Warts, was the decreasing quality of our meals. All our meat was salted and heavily spiced, having been boiled until near burning or smoked to keep for the winter without putrefying. We ate fewer and fewer fresh vegetables, everything having been pickled or dried to last. The only things in abundance - to my confusion - were filling breads (the monks called them 'cakes') stuffed with dried fruits, vegetables or spices, and soups.

In themselves, they weren't bad, though by the New Year, the meats were beginning to go slightly green underneath all the coating of spices and salt, but it was the repetition that made our meals less enjoyable. Eventually, one of the younger monks got fed up and threw away a large part of the meat, insisting that we managed with salted fish. "At least that doesn't make me go as green as it is," he retorted to an exasperated Brother Clement.

As predicted, we were kept busy enough as more and more sorcerors (or just wearied mundane travellers) pleaded for entrance at our gates. Lady Ravenclaw pushed our knowledge of healing to it's limits, and then some, as she set to work helping the badly wounded and the ill who came to our doors. In fact, there came a point when she and the monks began to make detailed plans for the school's infirmary and apothecary, to ensure that the sick would have a pleasant place to rest, instead of having to make do with mattresses of grass and straw.

Her own plans for the moving staircases were also under way. On the last and second days of the week, Lady Ravenclaw made sure that those who knew of woodwork were set to task, honing and hewing away. The monks carved away little decorations ("like the ones we have in our stalls in the old monastery," Clement told me) of hunters chasing deer, and strange male faces with leaves bursting out of their mouths, as well as scenes of my battles, the meetings between the swamp people and Salazar, and Lady Ravenclaw healing the village people. To my interest, they carved comparatively few of Lady Helga as they - like the rest of us - knew so little about her. What they did carve were images of her flying across the sea into Pictland, and occasional scenes of her first meeting with the three of us.

We, including Salazar who had returned from his travels for the specific occasion, spent several nights and several days, pooling our magics together and strengthening the joints between wood and stone, then imbuing the stairs with our own magic for them to have the power to move around of their own accord, much as we had done with the building of the Hog's Warts thus far. Salazar, as the spirit's favourite, channelled one of the lesser spirits into the heart of the School itself, after which the Abbess herself chose to bless our work and douse it with water.

"They are both of the same source," she had said in her serene voice, "the spirits and your magic. Though I do not understand your powers, I can see that they are as equal as that of a faithful saint's or a hard-voiced prophet's. This way, we will all remember that."

Thoroughly exhausted after so much magic-mongering, all of us who had been involved in the task rested for an entire week. After that, Salazar left us once again and we returned to our more important work.

Most of the young (and indeed adult) sorcerors who we began to teach already knew how to read and write to some extent. They would have known some Latin, less Greek and some other older languages, in order to have been able to say their spells. That made the monks' task a good deal easier for it meant that they could concentrate on broadening the range of languages spoken by the students.

Brother Clement, however, had to start from scratch with the vast majority of his students, who had never heard of Euclid or Pythagoras, nor read the ways of the Stoics or the Epicureans, though few more had heard of the teaching of Paul and other Christian apostles. Some of them latched onto this new knowledge eagerly, even going so far that he had to set up extra classes for the most promising of his students. Among such students were Fabia-Miriam (which somehow didn't surprise me) and her younger brother. Stanislaus was one of those baffled by mathematics, instead preferring to contemplate the riddles of philosopher and apostle alike, as I myself did.

It being winter, Brother Clement was unable to take his students out for the 'Natural' lessons, as he would have liked to do, but was nevertheless planning for outings once the last snows had melted, in order to help his students appreciate their geography lessons.

The sorcerous monks, too, had their work cut out for them. As Godric had told me before, the magic that the students were used to was a mixture of common sense herbal remedies, witchcraft, superstitions and pure sorcery and the monks' first task was to separate them from the other in order to educate the sorcerous students properly. I had never much understood the difference, but hearing the complaints and difficulties of the sorcerous monks made it all the more clearer.

Witchcraft was sorcery very much based on the world around the sorceror, rather than the sorceror himself. That was why things like the phase of the moon, or the time of day, or the season, or the hour mattered so much. It explained why only certain herbs and plants could be used for a particular spell and only particular stones for certain spells. It was the ritual of the thing: one needed coloured candles, bits of soil, blood, bone, hair... that was witchcraft. Indeed, that was what most of the 'sorcerors' who we received could do. It didn't require any source of magical power within the sorceror in question, simply that of the ingredients. The sorcerous monks became most frustrated to find that out of the sorcerous students, most were simply witches.

"But I think it best if we continue educating them as sorcerors, for clearly such witches are held in esteem among their people for a reason and must have some sort of talent, even if it is not sorcerous in origin," Brother Clement had said thoughtfully one evening. "Who knows what might come out of it? And besides, all knowledge is good knowledge, even of things that one cannot truly understand or put to use."

The ones who were sorcerors in the truest sense of the word, often had no knowledge of witchcraft as such and had to be educated as to the nature of their power. The monks and Lady Ravenclaw felt sorry for them: once their power was unleashed, they would often hurt themselves in the process of trying to master it. They often suffered from burned hands, and ferocious headaches, occasionally setting random objects on fire or they would attract lightening to themselves or causing things to explode.

None of us really had any idea what to do, including me. I had a nagging feeling that if I, the other three, the sorcerous monks and other sorcerors through the ages had managed it, why these students couldn't was a mystery indeed. Even more interesting, was that the many 'witches' that were also trained as sorcerors did not have such problems, but could achieve the basic and middle-level sorcery with less trouble. Lady Ravenclaw had surmised that this was because as witches, they had been in contact with magical sources for such a long time, the magical powers had in a sense 'rubbed off' on them. They wouldn't have as much sorcerous ability as those for whom it was innate, so it took less energy for them to focus their power. Still, that did not solve the problem of the sorcerors.

It was only two or three weeks (but felt like much longer) before something occurred to us. We each noticed, apparently at the same time, how we seemed to use a channel for our powers in order to get things to work. The sorcerous monks used their prayer beads, which they called rosaries and focused their spells using the correct words and the properties of their beads. For some, beads made of holly wood or ash worked best and for others, beads of lapis lazuli or some other semi-precious stone. I realised that I used my brother's rod in precisely the same way, to focus my sorcery. When we approached the Ladies Ravenclaw and Helga, they revealed that they too used a channel. For Lady Ravenclaw, it was either a similar rod to my brother's or, when she wished to be discreet, a rosary of spruce beads that she wore around her neck, each decade polished with a different oil; the lavender polished beads, for example, she would touch when calling on her healing powers.

Lady Helga, too had a focus, a silver cup. But such was it's nature that she could only use it for ceremonial magics, or else it would prove too awkward and ungainly to carry around with her all the time.

"Zat is vhy I specialize in ze vitch arrts," she informed us.

Perhaps, then, that was the answer.

Understanding the nature of the channels, we began to ask each of the sorcerors their day of birth, the moon phase, the season, the horoscope (if they knew it), any remarkable events that had happened at the time and how they came to be named (the Christians, for example, had chosen new names at their baptism), as well as their meanings. With all this information, we began to concentrate on making suitable channels for them.

I found it fascinating. The men - and this included me for even by this time, I had not found the courage, nor indeed the time, to tell them the truth of Godric, just as Eisla had predicted - spent our day teaching the sorcerors how to whittle away their own rods, using certain woods that we had felt was more suitable for them. We then taught them how to extract oils from herbs ("which'll be useful when I need them as healers," Lady Ravenclaw had said approvingly) and how to polish their rods frequently in order to get the most out of their channels.

And by and large it worked.

Infrequently, some of the rods would snap or the tip would burst, but as the students practised, such occurrences ceased. As if there had been no trouble at all, our sorcerors fled through the assigned books, and by Yuletide, many of them were conversing with either myself, Lady Ravenclaw, Lady Helga or Brother Clement as to their chosen areas of sorcery.

Each night, I would join Eisla in our chambers and tell her of everything that we had achieved. She was proud of me, and rightly so, I suppose, though at times I felt her pride a little overwhelming. I was just as proud of her, as well: during the day, she spent her time helping the monks to write a large missal on the strange lands she had visited and their customs and

gods. "Something to rival Herotodus," she had, and tweaked my nose. I blushed fiercely: during the day I forgot that I was still Gelda, Eisla's adopted little sister, Ahatti. I think that at times, the same was true of her. We had stopped talking about the right occasion to reveal my true person to the others. It was far too late now.

What was more, apart from those moments when she would tweak my nose and murmur my name, it was getting more and more difficult to separate the Godric from the Gelda. The magic had indeed been successful, and it didn't take much to make me wonder if it had been too successful.

Spring eventually came. After the initial shock of the Sun, it crept up on us who had grown so accustomed to Winter, slowly but surely. The snows melted and flowers bloomed. It dawned on me that Spring had truly arrived when Brother Clement announced (wrapped up in waxed woollen robes) that he was taking his class out for a walk through the nearby land. It felt strange to think of how much of an effect a change in season had on us. We kept the doors of the School wide open for most of the day and the spring air cleansed and refreshed us.

The winter snows being melted away, we were inundated by a wave of more seekers. Unlike the stragglers that we had received in the winter, these were often made up of large groups of already learned sorcerors and their folk. It was the first time that I was to come in contact with people who were truly sorcerous by culture, not just because of their talent. Lady Ravenclaw and I learned much from these old sorcerous clans. They advised us not to start the training of a sorcerous child, for example, and to wait until they were on the cusp of adulthood. Of course, that varied depending on the child in question, but thereafter, we each made sure that the younger ones were given other tasks to concentrate on apart from their magic until they had come of age.

When, as usually happens, our students would come of age, we were again warned to encourage them to love someone of opposite talents: "Just as the blood can become inbred," an old sorcerous Lady had informed me, "so can magic. Don't let the healers marry other healers. Let them marry seers. Let the seers marry the enchanters. Even better, let the sorcerous marry the mundane. Children born of such unions often end up stronger and wiser than their parents."

"I find that especially interesting," Lady Ravenclaw murmured to me on one occasion, "because there are certain sects of sorcerors who insist on keeping magics within a family..."

"And do they become as inbred as the Lady says?" I replied.

The Lady Ravenclaw looked thoughtful. "Stagnant is perhaps the better word," she said. "They are not so open to new ideas. They do not seem as open to the old ideas, for that matter. But what they gain is a depth of understanding of that which they do know, that cannot be rivalled."

Regardless of how many different ways of using the space we had built, we were always overcrowded. Some even took to sleeping in the barns or the infirmaries. As Spring progressed, we were a riot of ploughing fields and digging up new foundations. At least this time round, I thought to myself, with all our magic learnt over the winter, we would have an easier time of it.

We did, but only barely. For all our experience, we were building on a larger and grander scale than before. We had plans for libraries, larger cellars, dormitories and solaces, gardens, watchtowers, halls and classrooms. We began to learn to build ahead of ourselves. Whereas beforehand, we had built only when necessary, now we had planned large wings of the School with no one to use them. Of course, we would be proved right for our caution as a new influx of wanderers would come in through our doors.

What would have taken us several years to build by hand, took us only a few months with our magic. With the beginning of summer came the growing of the corn from the earth and fruits upon the trees, while the Hog's Warts doubled in size. We soon became more of a village than a School. We extended the stables to build a blacksmith's, for example, not as large as the one in the village, but enough for smaller works. A new kitchen was built nearer to the infirmaries, where the Lady Ravenclaw could make her medicines. Lastly, near to the rooms that had been designated as libraries (for all that we had so few books with us) was the copying room. As soon as it was finished and furnished, the monks, sorcerous and mundane, spent hours there, painstakingly making copies of the few tomes we had. A few of them worked on Chronicles, journals filled with our stories and sufferings, our dreams and visions. Every now and again, I would go and visit them, occasionally to answer some query of theirs, but usually just to sit and watch in awe, seeing history being written.

Around that time, Salazar returned to us. We did, of course, celebrate his arrival with a lot of good eating and dancing. He took the time to meet our new arrivals, listening to their stories by day. By night, as we sat around a table, huddled inwards, he told us what he had heard along his way.

"There's no news of them allyin' agains' us jus' ye'." he began wearily.

"By them, I take it you mean the various sorcerous tribes who are against our endeavours," Clement put in.

"Just how many of them are there?" Eisla asked.

"Well, around a dozen," I answered, noticing the strange look on Eisla's face as I did so. "But most are small, petty gangs, really; lucky enough to have employed a couple of mercenaries for their purpose. A few come from the old Roman-Angle families, still holding on to some old vision of power. They're the really dangerous ones, because they have the most powerful sorcerors and can easily sway the smaller gangs to join them..."

"I suppose zat it is only a matterr of time beforre they succeed in doing so," Helga murmured, then glanced up quickly, meeting Salazar's eyes. He nodded slowly.

"Yeh, I've convinced mysel' o' tha' as well. I's only a matter o' time before they who be the Old clans start waving coins in their faces."

"I would've thought the Old families would be behind our endeavour," Eisla said quietly.

"Oh, some are," the Lady Ravenclaw nodded. "But some... well, you have to understand that the old Roman families have been isolated from what used to be the Empire for a long time. Indeed, at one point, they were abandoned by it and yet, they were always expected to follow the edicts of Rome. This created a great deal of resentment that carried through the generations. Being on an island makes them naturally suspicious and alert to any foreigner who they see as trying to take their power from them. I think some see us as just yet another group of inquisitors on the lookout for some new heresy," she sighed. "Politics."

"We'll get them around to our side eventually," Clement reassured her. "It'll take a while, but eventually we will. Once they see we have no interest in taking what power they might have over their magics and learning."

"Is there news of any other travelling band?" the Lady Ravenclaw asked. "We have new halls in the mountain keeps."

"I have to admi', I'm almos' impressed by the work ye've managed to do," Salazar chuckled. "I've nothin' specific to tell yer, bu' I've heard rumours of a couple of sorcerous refugees makin' their way up north..."

"It's like a great pilgrimage!" The Abbess said faintly. We laughed.

"There's all sor's o' strange tales bein' tol' abou' yer, my Lady," Salazar rose an eyebrow at the Lady Ravenclaw. "Jus' what have you been spreadin', this time?"

"Nothing!" She raised her hands in defence as we laughed again. "I swear, I don't know how these stories get out!"

"So long as they're complementary..." Brother Clement murmured.

Salazar sighed and shifted in his seat. "That's jus' the problem - no' all o' them are. You're gettin' turned into a reg'lar Hypatia, you know."

"Oh dear," she replied, coyly lowering her eyes, but Eisla looked genuinely concerned.

"I've heard about what they did to her, those Alexandrians... it was the Christians and some Bishop of theirs... oh! Sorry, Brother Clement, Abbess," she suddenly stopped.

"No, no: the old Abbot once told us of it," Clement said. "The mob called it a purge."

"Some purge - she was only an old mathematician!" Eisla exclaimed.

"The 'she' bein' the importan' par' of i', I reckon," Salazar added grimly. "Suffice to say, m'Lady - be careful. You don' wan' these ol' families settin' their pries's on you. Nothin's worse than a prayin' sorceror..."

"Salazar, I am always careful," the Lady Ravenclaw replied softly and held Salazar's gaze for a beat too long. I sighed.

"I picked up a new sword as well, Godric," he turned to me and grinned. "We'll have to ge' started tryin' i' ou'."

"Ah!" I groaned, miming an old man rubbing his back. "Give me a day or two - you'll be all fresh from your leisurely wanderings!"

"Oh yes?" He cried as the others laughed, getting up one by one just as we did. "I think someone's claiming an unjus' advantage!"

"Please, my Lords," Ravenclaw waved a hand at us, the other covering up her yawn. "You can keep your proud rutting for tomorrow when we have all been rested." We bade goodnight to each other and made our way down the halls to our allotted solaces. I slept near the stables, where it was warmest from the horses and the smithy. On my way there, I was surprised by a gentle touch on the crook of my arm.

"Who--?"

"Ssh! Inside," said the hoarse whisper and the hands guided me into my room. As I lit a candle, the person turned round to close the door before turning back to face me.

"G-Eisla? What is it?" I asked.

"That!" She pointed at me and approached me with an intense look in her eyes. "How did you know so much about our foe, hm? I don't remember Godric ever telling you anything about that..."

"Godric?" I barked. "I am--"

"Gelda!" She hissed. "You're Gelda, not Godric! Gelda!" She sighed. "Oh, what has this magic done? We were supposed to tell them about the truth, but we have been so busy, so caught up with all of this... and you looked so much like him already and this magic must have fooled even his blood brother... even you: you're actually becoming your brother..."

"Don't be rid--"

"No, no! Not like that, but in here," she tapped on her head. "You're all Godric in here and it's affecting you. Even your voice seems deeper sometimes."

"Do you think we should tell them now, then, before this carries on?" I asked after a long pause, during which I could feel myself somehow getting smaller, as Gelda took over and I was left feeling slightly deflated. Being Godric felt so wonderful, so powerful, that it was no wonder I had been so willing to cast Gelda aside.


End file.
